






COPYRIGHT DEPOSIT 























No. r,8 


‘*5 Cts, 



Copyright, 1885, 
by Harper & Brothers 


February 26, 1886 


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THE LAST OF THE MACALUSTERS 

^ Konel 

By MRS. AMELIA E.'BARR 


Copyright, 1886, by Harper & Brothers 


Bool'S yon may hold readily in your hand are the most useful, after all 

Dr. Johnson 


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1886 


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THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


CHAPTER I. 

CHIEF AND LAWYER. 

“Oh, where are the pretty men of yore ? 

Oh, where are the brave men gone? 

Oh, where are the heroes of the North ? 

Each under his own gray stone. 

The chiefs that were foremost of old, 

Macdonald, and brave Lochiel, 

The Gordon, the Murray, and the Graham, 

With their clansmen true as steel.” 

MacAllister, it is the height of nonsense for you to fret 
nd fume at this rate. Two things you need never be angry 
t — what you can help and what you cannot help ; and it’s 
•lain you cannot help Cameron buying Assynt and Balkerry. 
)o you know him at all 

“ Know him ! know a trading body who has dared to offer 
siller for an auld estate, sir ; an estate as auld as the Flood, sir ; 
a deal auld'er, sir ; siller scrapit together by some kind o’ handi- 
work ! Who was bis grandfather ? A puir Glasgo’ wabster ! 
That’s a bonnie origin for a Highland chief ! Ugh ! And 
what’s to come of the MacLeods ?” 

They have shaken hands wi’ Cameron, and are goin’ to 
turn herring-fishers.” 

“ The MacLeods and the Camerons ! Certie ! There’s a 
bonnie pair o’ them.” 

‘‘ Come, come, laird ; it is ill sitting in Rome and striving 
wi’ the pope, as the saying is. A man can live without his 

1 


2 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


kin, but he canna live without his neighbors, and I am free to 
tell you that the wood in the Reay forest wants to be let alone 
now, and there’s that bill due the Perth Bank. It’s been noted 
and protested already, MacAllister, and I’m thinking there is a 
a writ o horning and caption on the road to Strathleven. I 
heard of it at Tain.” 

“It is a far cry from Tain to Strathleven, Fraser; and what 
does MacAllister care for a wheen lawyer’s papers ? I’ll just 
send a dozen o’ my gillies to meet them, and convoy them back 
o’er the hills again.” 

“ That’s aboon your thumb, laird. The law is ower strong 
for any Highland chief now, and it’s folly to show your teeth 
— unless you can bite.” 

“ It is na twenty years since I went wi’ five hundred wild 
MacAllisters into Moray’s land, and every man o’ them took 
his prey.” 

“ Ah weel, laird ! Then was then^ but novfs the now. The 
MacAllisters were never saints, nor did they ever get the name 
o’ it.” 

“ They were never lawyers, anyway, nor factors, nor count- 
ing bodies, and you’ll never speak against the MacAllisters 
again, Fraser.” 

“ My tongue isna under your belt, laird.” 

“It’s weel you say that under my roof, Fraser. Gude man- 
ners you may hae, sir, but you dinna carry them about wi’ 
you.” 

“If a’ things were true, laird, that would be nae lie. But 
there’s no folly like falling out, and I’m lawyer enough, if I 
keep my tongue, to keep my siller likewise.” 

“ How dare you anger me thus, Fraser ?” 

“ Dare is a hard word to crack, laird.” 

“ TJmff ! Umff! I Umff ! ! ! Better be going, sir. The 
gate is wide open afore you.” 

But Fraser filled his glass, and tied up carefully some ac- 
counts and papers, and then, with his hat in his hand, said, 

“ I shall stay a’ night at Donald Du MacAllister’s, and may- 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


3 


be by the morn you’ll cool and come to yourself, laird.” Then 
he went slowly down the mountain path, muttering at inter- 
vals : “ A man should baud his tongue in an ill time ; and as 
for MacAllister’s anger. I’ll never fash my head about it. I 
ken him as weel as if I had gane through him wi’ a lighted 
candle, and his ill words are only frae the teeth forward ; his 
heart is a’ right. Maybe I should hae keepit a stiller tongue 
in my head, but as gude gie the insult as tak’ it. And I needna 
do it again ; once is no custom.” 

Just at this point in his soliloquy he turned a sharp corner 
in the rocky descent, and for a moment forgot everything but 
the scene before him. He had been among mountains shoul- 
dering one another up to the sky, and there ! another step, and 
a world of valleys was at his feet ! Valleys like emeralds, and 
hills like amethyst, and streams of silver tumbling down deep 
ravines, overgrown with bracken and bell-heather. 

It’s a bonnie land !” he cried ; “ a bonnie land ! and it 
would be a sair pity for young Hector to lose it. If the auld 
laird wasna so contrairie, sae aggravating, I would, yes, I 
would — ” And he turned round in an irresolute fashion and 
faced Strathleven again. 

But he did not return, for clear and cheerily a strong young 
voice began chanting just below him, 

“Little wat ye wha’s coming ! 

Duncan’s coming, Donald’s coming, 

Colin’s coming, Ronald’s coming, 

Dougald’s coming, Lauchlan’s coming, 

MacAllister and a’s coming, 

Borland and his men’s coming, 

Cameron and McLean’s coming, 

Gordon and McGregor’s coming, 

Ilka dunywastle’s coming.” 

“ Hector, fair-fa’ you, lad ! Why are ye singing these auld- 
warld rhymes ? Let byganes be byganes, lad. Thae Stuarts 
are unlucky folk, and ill-luck is catching. Let them alone. 
Hector, your father had trouble enough in the ’lt5, my lad.” 


4 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ That may be so, Fraser ; but when my men are tired, or 
hungry, a lilt about — ye ken wha’ — makes the hardest hill as 
easy as dancing. But you are turning your face the wrong 
way ; Strathleven is up, not down.” 

“ I know that, but the laird and I hae been calling each ither 
ill names ; and I am not going back to Strathleven to-night— 
the morn’s the morn — but I am not going back to-night. Yet 
there are counts to cast, and MacAllister will neither see, nor 
hear, nor meddle with them.” 

“ Where are you going, then ?” 

“ To Donald Du’s — and you had better come along with 
me.” 

“ If it is needful, yes ; but I must send the lads home, they 
are tired and hungry.” 

The lads were about a score in number — a score men such 
as could hardly be found, except in Caithness and Sutherland, 
giants in stature, in strength, and in heart ; “ pretty men, every 
ane o’ them,” as Fraser admiringly allowed, though they were 
all distinctly inferior to the young laird. He said a few words 
to the gilly nearest to him, and, lifting his bonnet to his com- 
panions, motioned to them to proceed without him. 

In this interval Hector’s bright face had gathered a slight 
shadow. He knew that only some event of importance had 
brought Fraser to Strathleven out of his usual order of coming, 
and he had lived long enough in Edinburgh to be aware that 
the lawyer’s bills and papers which his father treated with such 
sublime scorn were capable of holding their own, even in the 
wilds of Sutherland. 

But down the narrow mountain path it was impossible to 
converse, and the two men walked on in silence until they came 
to Donald Du’s cottage. It was a little stone hut of three 
rooms, very much superior to the ordinary shielings of the Mac- 
Allisters ; for Donald Du was the laird’s foster-brother, and on 
him rested the actual direction of all the chiefs orders. He 
was eating his supper when they entered, and though it was 
July, the table was drawn close to the peat fire. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


5 


“ Fa’s tat ? Maister Fraser and ta young laird ? Come in, 
shentlemans, her nainsel is glad to see ye baith. Ta porridge 
is shust ready, and ta fresh feesh, and ta goot whiskey — ta real, 
right thing, shentleinen.” 

In a few moments the visitors had laid aside their bonnets, 
and their porridge was before them. 

“ Is it ta whiskey or ta cow’s milk ye’ll be wanting wi’ your 
meal ?” asked Donald of the lawyer. 

“ I’ll just tak’ them baith, Donald,” said Fraser. 

Donald was not regarded as any hinderance to a confidential 
conversation, and when the porridge had taken the edge off their 
hunger, and while they sat waiting for the trout broiling on the 
embers at their feet, Fraser said, 

‘‘ I hae sure information that thae Perth bodies hae sent aff 
the writ and constables, anent that bill the laird gave, and willna 
talk about paying.” 

Hector laughed, but not very pleasantly. “ Well,” he said, 
“ what can they do ?” 

They can take the laird away bodily, and clap him within 
four stone walls, that’s what they can do — if they are not hin- 
dered.” 

“ How can we hinder them, then ?” 

No ways but by paying the money. Four hundred pounds 
sterling ! Hector, lad, it is a big sum.” 

“ Her nainsel wadna pay a penny o’ it. Turn ta craters free 
in ta Reay forest, and let them fint their ways hame to Perth 
again. It will pe a lang time ere they win there — yes, inteet 1” 

“ Hout, Donald ! That’s fair nonsense.” 

“ Gie them ta whole Reay forest. That wad pe vera ceevil.” 

“ Senselessly ceevil. The money is due, and the money must 
be paid. Folk canna eat their cake and hae it too; Hector 
kens that as weel as I do.” 

How can we raise the money ?” 

“That is warld-like talk. It is raised, I brought it wi’ me. 
But MacAllister gat into a raging temper every time I spoke of 
paying it. Donald must get him awa to the Reay forest — there 


6 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


are reasons enough besides the timber, and cattle ; and Hector, 
you must go off somewhere with that red-hot brother o’ yours, 
or he’ll be sure to put a quarrelsome finger in the pie. Then 
if I am left myself to manage thae limbs of the law, we’ll neither 
kill each ither nor burn the house about our heads.” 

Hector’s foot was patting the fioor in a very irritable manner, 
and the frown on his handsome face was a dark one. 

“ It is a just debt. Hector, and a just debt ought to be paid.” 

“I know that; it is the making of these debts. Don’t 
you see they are ruining the estate? How can they be pre- 
vented ?” 

‘‘ I have thought o’ that, and we’ll speak o’ the matter anon. 
To-night you had better go to Strathleven and do what you 
may do to get the laird out o’ harm’s way. It is true that if 
we pay the debt they canna touch him, but the Laird o’ Mac- 
Allister isna always laird o’ himsel’, and his dirk is whiles far 
too near his hand.” 

There seemed to be no better thing to do, and after some 
further reasoning with Donald Du — who refused to see any 
claim superior to MacAllister’s in the MacAllister’s country — 
Hector went thoughtfully home. Every year he was becoming 
more painfully conscious that they were living out of time and 
tune with the great world outside them. Travel and a liberal 
education had convinced him long ago that a noble estate was 
being recklessly wasted in an endeavor to avoid dangers that 
sooner or later were inevitable. 

To-night he blamed himself severely, perhaps more so than 
he deserved, for it was no light task that presented itself to him 
as a duty. Indeed, it was a task from which an affectionate son 
might well shrink, since any plan of his for economizing or im- 
proving the MacAllister lands must necessarily seem selfish to 
those in the present enjoyment of them. His father might sus- 
pect that he was looking towards the time when he himself 
would be chief of the MacAllisters, and he knew that his brother 
Angus would keenly resent any curtailment of the ancient glories 
or privileges of the clan. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


1 


And Angus was very dear to Hectoro In his great love for 
the lad he threw a heroic glamour over all the wild deeds rumor 
ascribed to him. It was easy also to make excuses for Angus ; 
he had never been beyond his native mountains ; his world was 
Caithness and Sutherland. Outside their boundaries London to 
Labrador seemed equally remote from his interests and sympa- 
thies. 

Of course his education had been faulty, but Hector was not 
to blame for that. He had often tried to persuade Angus to go 
southward and enter some famous school, but from childhood 
the lad had loved a sword better than a book. His mother dy- 
ing at his birth/ander very sorrowful circumstances, he had been 
wholly left to the unreasoning affection of men and women who 
had taught him mainly two things — the use of weapons and 
the superiority of the^MacAllisters. 

So, to Angus, the world revolved in the MacAllister country, 
and the laird of the clan saw in this son his own wild, heroic 
youth, and loved him for the backward vision. How then was 
Hector to make clear to them the necessity for turning their 
swords into ploughshares without laying himself open to sus- 
picions he could not bear to contemplate? 

Busy with such thoughts as these — thoughts in which Angus 
was somehow always first and last — he lifted his eyes as he felt 
the soft lawn of the castle court beneath his feet, and saw Angus 
coming to meet him. Angus was a tall, dark youth in kilt and 
philibeg, with a face more serious than Hector’s, and a stature 
that in the evening dusk looked almost gigantic. Nor did his 
appearance belie his real strength ; the dirk in his belt had been 
won in fair and open contest from Grant of Grant, and the 
feather in his bonnet plucked by his own hand from the wing 
of an eagle in the dark fastnesses of Ben More. 

Yet, unreasonable as Angus frequently was with all others, to 
Hector he always listened with loving patience ; and now, as he 
joined him in the court, he said, eagerly, “ Hector, I have waited 
from my bed to see thee. Two things have gone wrong with 
me to-day, I have quarrelled with Ewen, and our father is sair 


8 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


troubled about something. The world is turning withershins, I 
think.” 

“Our father has good reasons for trouble, Angus. Come 
here;” and the two young men leaned together over the wall 
which guarded the court, and from which the hill went down 
on three sides in a sheer precipice of five hundred feet. “ To- 
morrow there will be men here who, unless he pays them 
four hundred pounds, will carry him to Perth and put him in 
prison.” 

“You are talking foolishness. Hector; they dare do no such 
thing !” 

“ Angus, dear lad, get quickly rid of such dreams. Outside 
our own land the world cares no more for the chief of MacAl- 
lister than it does for the chief of the gypsy camp down at 
Duchally.” 

“ What is to be done ?” 

“ The money is to be paid.” 

“ Where is it to be got ?” 

“ It is got. Fraser has it, biit our father will not hear of pay- 
ing it. Now it must be done, and it may as well be done quiet- 
ly. So I trust to you and Donald; you must take the laird 
away on some pretext to the Reay forest” 

“ When will these men be here ?” 

“I think to-morrow. Fraser heard of them at Tain, and 
came on as quickly as possible ; but it is a bad road for those 
strange to it.” 

“ Perhaps they will take the northern pass.” 

“ They are sure to do that ; indeed, Fraser had certain tidings 
of them at Strathdonan yesterday. You will give your word 
with mine, Angus, and keep our father beyond trouble for a few 
days.” 

“ Surely, Hector. A man can only walk as his shoes will let 
him ; and if we cannot fight a wrong, why I suppose we must 
bear it.” 

“ Come inside now, Angus, it is getting late.” 

“ No, no, there is more for me to do yet. I must see Ewen 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


9 


before I go in ; it is ill sleeping with a drawn dirk between 
us.” 

“ Oh, Angus, you are the noblest lad ! and now I am free to 
say that you owe it to Ewen. He is your foster-father, and 
three times your age, and he loves you almost as well as I do.” 

“ All that may be, and yet Ewen may be wrong and I right ; 
but I must needs see him, so good-night, Hector, and trouble 
not yourself about the day and the folks you never saw, for all 
the men in Scotland can do no more than they may do.” 

So Hector went into the castle to talk over affairs with his 
father, and Angus took the road down the mountain. There 
was no moon, but daylight lingers long in that latitude, and the 
solemn gray stillness was only intensified by the whispering of 
the pines and the soft plashing of the linn down the rocky de- 
file at his right hand. 

Ewen sat at the door of his cottage, and he must have been 
deeply hurt by their dispute, for he never noticed his favorite’s 
approach. For a moment Angus stood silently over him, then 
he touched him gently and said, “ Ewen, Ewen, there is nothing 
for misdeeds but amends ; I did you wrong, my father ! I am 
sorry.” 

In an instant the old man was pouring out in a torrent of 
Gaelic his love, his scJrrow, and his utter devotion to his young 
chief, and the quarrel ended, as many a quarrel between them 
had done before, in their weeping upon each other’s necks. 

“ And now we shall drink the peace-cup, Ewen, for I have 
something particular to tell you.” 

They talked earnestly, and yet cheerfully, until after midnight, 
and then Angus did not return to Strathleven, but lay down in 
Ewen’s cottage upon a pallet of fresh brackens. Ewen stood 
some time afterwards in the open door, holding an argument 
with himself. But at last he seemed to be perfectly satisfied, 
for, as he lay down, he muttered : “ It is petter ta keep ta deil 
out than to hae to put him out ; aye, is it.” 

In the meantime Fraser was sleeplessly watching out the 
night in Donald Du’s cottage. He missed sorely the comfort 


• 10 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


of his own feather bed, and the little bachelor luxuries with 
which he had surrounded himself. 

“ It’s a born fool I am to be putting mysel’ in danger o’ the 
rheumatics for a man bound to go to ruin ony way j and here’s 
a^mist thick enou’ to wet a Hielandman to the skin, no’ to speak 
o’ their hot tempers and their hasty hands. I’ll e’en win my 
way hame again as cannily as I can, and let what will be will be.” 

But as soon as the sun rose and filled the vallev with sun" 
shine Fraser felt more like himself. “ Oh, how sweet and fresh 
is this caller air,” he said, joyfully, “ and the mavis singing on 
every tree, and the lark awa’ up in the lift, and the gowans and 
bluebells glinting all over the strath. It wad be baith a sin and 
a shame no to try and keep the land thegither for that braw 
lad, Hector, for he is warld-like and sensible, so I’ll e’en awa up 
to Strathleven Castle, and see which way the wind sits in Mac- 
Allister’s temper this morning.” 

He found Donald Du already dressed, and eating his porridge 
and whiskey in something of a hurry. ^ 

“ Ta laird was going to Strathoikel to see and hear tell o’ ta Ross 
men, and she’ll na move a step at a’ without her nainsel,” he 
explained. 

Hearing this, Fraser at once began the ascent to the castle, for he 
well knew that even giving himself half the distance as a start, 
Donald’s mighty steps would be likely to leave him behind. 
He found the hall of the castle in the greatest confusion. Gil- 
lies were running hither and thither, buckling garters and belts, 
packing baskets with oatcakes and Farintosh, or attempting to 
execute a score of orders which the chief thought of at the last 
moment. 

There was a strange and perplexing hubbub, made up of Gael- 
ic and English cries, of shrill calls and whistles, of laughter and 
disputing, and Fraser, seeing how impossible any reason- 
able conversation was, determined to ignore the quarrel of the 
preceding night. 

Of course he expected the laird to be equally conciliating, 
but that was a step quite beyond the MacAllister’s nature. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


11 


“ Come in, Fraser,” he said, with a lofty condescension, 
come in ; you are welcome, though you did set yourseP up in 
a blaze yestreen.” 

“ What’s in the wind this morning, laird?” 

“ As if ye didna ken weel enough, Andrew Fraser ! There’s 
some o’ your ain craft coming o’er the hills to tak’ me — me, mind 
ye! — awa’ to prison. Heard ye ever the like? And a’ for a 
miserable screed of a goose-feather !” 

“ Weel, laird, I’ll do a’ that may be to settle the matter.” 

“But ye’ll pay no siller, Andrew Fraser, not a bawbee. 
Why should I ? I never saw the color o’ their Perth money, 
not I.” 

“But, laird, it was paid on your ain hand-write to Dalraid 
& Dounachy for the linsey and tartans I sent you last No- 
vember.” ^ 

“ I tell ye I never saw a bawbee o’ it. I ken not if there be 
such bodies as Dalraid h Dounachy. Now what for should I 
pay back siller I never saw ?” 

“ But the tartans, laird ?” 

“ Umff ! Thae Perth craters ought to be thankfu’ that a few 
yards o’ tartan is all their loss. My father, the glide Laird 
Alexander, would hae gane wi’ five hundred men, and just taen 
a’ the tartan he needed, maybe other little matters besides.” 

“Then if I am not to pay the siller, laird, what am I to 
do ?” 

“ One lawyer ought to ken how to fieece another. It would 
ill become me, Laird Hector MacAllister, to hae any hobble- 
shaw anent such matters as wabster’s and tailor’s bills. Law- 
yer against lawyer, it will be a proper wrastle, that it will, and 
dinna you be the one to gie in first.” 

“ And where are you going, laird ?” 

“ It isna quite determined on yet ; but I’ll be somewhere in 
the Edderkyles deer forest. They will be brave men that fol- 
low me there without a guide, and they will be rich men that 
can hire a guide in the MacAllister’s land. Ane o’ them bon- 
nie-looking bogs, not twenty feet wide, wouldna mak a mout- 


12 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


fu’ o’ the Court o’ Session and the London Parliament, wi’ all 
the lawyers on King Geordie’s rolls thrown into the bargain. 
Gude-raorning to you, Fraser, there’s Hector to stand beside 
ye, and whatever Hector puts his hand to. I’ll say ^ Yes’ to it. 
There’s my thumb on that promise.” 

So at the last Fraser had got what he desired, for he under- 
stood that this was simply the laird’s way of accepting the 
thing he knew to be inevitable. 

“ And he must just hae his little bluster if it soothes his 
pride a bit,” said Fraser, apologetically, as he watched the laird 
and his following disappear among the dark woods of Loch 
Mora. “ Paying debts is a hard lesson to learn, if ye dinna 
start it till ye are mair than saxty years auld.” 


CHAPTER 11. 

THE chief’s triumph. 


“Often do the spirits 

Of great events stride on before the events, 

And in to-day already walks to-morrow.” 

“Helen’s beauty in a brow of Egypt.” 

‘‘ Come in now, Fraser, and have your breakfast ; my father 
has gone away as happy as a child on a holiday.” 

Fraser turned in gladly enough ; a breakfast with Hector 
meant an orderly, if not a luxurious meal, and when they en- 
tered the little parlor where it was laid he could not help a 
sigh of content and pleasant anticipation. “ Ham and corned 
beef and pies, and kippered salmon and tongue and eggs, and 
fresh butter and thick cream and marmalade ! Certes, Hector, 
a good breakfast, and a good appetite, the cause is excellent, 
lad, and the word is ‘ fall to.’ ” 

The order was heartily obeyed, so heartily that it was not 
until Fraser pushed aside the dish of lordly salmon that he 
found time to say : “ I have not seen Angus this morning ; I 
hope he has taken the same road as the laird.” 

“ I think he has. He slept at Ewen’s last night, and Ewen 
and he were here at dawning. I heard them say they would 
meet the laird at the hunting-lodge in the Edderkyle.” 

“That is well. I was mair feared for Angus than for his 
father ; the lad has a double portion o’ the MacAllister’s tem- 
per.” 

“ I wonder what is best to do for him?” 

“ There is nae remedy for temper but in cutting aff the head 
— unless, maybe, marriage. I hae heard that a wife wad tame 
the sea, and ye could find one for it.” And the old bachelor 


14 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


laughed queerly as he added : “ For myseP I wald rather 
thole the disease than the cure for it. But if a wife wad sort 
Angus’s temper, then I ken the very lassie he should wed.” 

‘‘Helen MacDonald ?” 

“ Na, na, it is just bonnie Grace Cameron. Why, Hector, • 
she is a kind o’ Providence for the MacAllister. Look here, 
my lad ” — and Fraser bent eagerly forward — “ Assynt and Bal- 
kerry touch the Edderkyle on the north, and lay easy all along 
the MacAllister country on the east. They hae bonnie lochs 
and bays for herring-fishing, and they hae rich marble quarries, 
and wealth o’ garnets and pebble-stanes. It is a natural bit o’ 
your estate, and the lassie is gude and bonnie. Why should 
we not mak’ a wedding o’ it ?” 

“But Angus might not love her, and I would never advise 
him to marry any woman unless he did love her.” 

“ That is a’ clavers. Hector MacAllister, as it is said, 

“‘There’s plenty good love in bands and bags. 

And siller and gold is a sweet complexion.’ 

Ah ! I mind auld Bailie MacPherson, that was a song o’ his, 
and he heeded it too, for he married wi’ a rich widow — Jessie, 
relict o’ Gavin Fraser ; she was my ain cousin by marriage sax 
times removed — all of which is neither here nor there, for I 
was speaking o’ a marriage atween the lands o’ MacAllister and 
Cameron.” 

“Well, speak no more on such a matter, Fraser; I would 
rather lose every acre I am to have than see Angus sell himself 
for more.” 

“ It’s no’ a bad price for any lad — Assynt and Balkerry.” 

“ It is too little for Angus — I believe I saw this Miss Cam- 
eron in Edinburgh.” 

“That did you not, sir! It is four years syne you were in 
Edinburgh, and Grace Cameron is just seventeen last April, the 
saxteenth day. I ken that, for she spent her birthday in my 
poor bit bonne.” 

“Oh, oh I your poor bit home! You know it is the pret- 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


15 


tiest place in Dornoch. Bat what was Miss Cameron doing in 
your ‘ poor bit home ?’ ” 

“ Glide reason for her visit, Hector. I did the conveyancing 
and writing wark for the selling and baying of Assynt, and the 
inn was dirty and noisy, and so I e’en asked John Cameron and 
his daughter to stop at my house. It was an unca’ pleasant 
thing to see her makin’ out the tea in my parlor morn and 
nio:ht; and when she went awa’ I missed her sairly for a 
while.” 

“ Then you know Miss Cameron ?” 

‘‘ Yes. When you ha’ lived three weeks in the same house 
wi’ a lassie you may kind o’ say ‘ you know her ’ — not but 
what a fifteenth-century deed is easier reading than maist o’ 
them.” 

Is she beautiful ?” 

“ Bonnie as fiowers in May ; dainty-like and high-bred. She 
ay minded me o’ sweet dewy roses and caller air.” 

“ What color is her hair ?” 

“ I canna rightly say, but it is ay snooded prettily ; and she 
has eyes like blue forget-me-nots — clear, open eyes, laddie, that 
look you straight in the face.” 

“ She might be a proper wife for Angus. It often grieves 
me to think I shall have all this estate, and Angus nothing at 
all. It is a bad law.” 

“ Speak o’ what you understand, Hector, and then you will- 
na speak against the law. There wouldna be a decent estate in 
Scotland but for it.” 

It is no fault of Angus’s that he is youngest, and he is not 
fit for any life but the one he is leading. Now if he could be 
induced to fall in love with Miss Cameron, she could not help 
but love him, I think, and then — don’t you see, Fraser ?” 

“ Yes, I see. But wha or what is going to induce Angus 
MacAllister to do aught he is wanted to do ? He is just the 
maist contrary o’ lads.” 

Forbid him to love her or tell him some one else wants 
her, and Angus will swim Loch Asvsynt every night to see her.” 


16 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


In conversation appertaining to this matter the breakfast 
hour passed, and then Fraser and Hector had other important 
topics to discuss, for the lawyer had much to say against the 
way in which MacAllister lived ; he wanted the clansmen to be 
released from all feudal obligations, to turn their attention to 
fishing and cattle, so that in a few years they would be able to 
support themselves. 

“ The expense would be great at first. Hector, but the Mac- 
Gunns — the maist unruly o’ mortals — want to go to Canada; 
and if your father will sell the land they are on he will be 
clear in ten years, and have a’ the North Country banks court- 
ing his business.” 

“ The MacAllister will never consent.” 

‘‘But, lad, the MacAllisters canna hold the warld in their 
bridle. And look here ;” then eagerly the lawyer spread out 
the maps and estimates and showed how this land could be 
made to raise black cattle, and that land sheep, and the forest and 
lochs be great game and fishing preserves, until Hector was as- 
tounded with the probable profits of such a scheme. Thus the 
long summer day passed without scarcely a thought of the vis- 
itors for whom they were waiting. But when night came, and 
there was still no sign of them, they began to speculate as to 
the causes of their delay. 

These speculations were tinged with anxiety when at the end 
of the second day there was still no sign of them. On the 
third day Hector sent scouts to inspect the road and various 
mountain passes, but they came back without any positive in- 
formation. They indeed met one man who had spoken with 
the party among the hills that guard Loch Shin, but beyond 
them they had not left a footmark. 

On the evening of the fourth day Fraser came in from a 
ramble with a gloomy and perplexed face. “ Hector,” he said, 
“ I hae just met wi’ twa men who hae na been in this country 
since the year Angus was born. I don’t know on what terms 
the laird and they parted, but it was either as sworn friends or 
sworn foes, there could be naething atween the twa for them ; 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


17 


and I think, if you will gie me a guide, I will go to the Edder- 
kyle to-moiTow and hae speech with the laird.” 

“ You will find it a rough journey. Can I go for you?” 

I can tread your father’s steps up hill or down dale, and if 
the laird hasna told you anent this matter, I would ill like to 
be the man who should speak, without leave, of affairs sae pri- 
vate to him. How auld were you when Angus was born?” 

I was full seven years old.” 

Do you remember your mother ?” 

I remember her in a hundred ways, but best of all the last 
time I saw her. Angus was two days old then, and she called 
me to her side and made me hold his baby hands and promise 
her that I would always be a good, loving, patient brother to 
him. I have kept my promise, Fraser.” 

‘‘You have. She was a bonnie woman.” 

The loveliest woman I ever saw.” 

“ And the laird loved her?” 

“ I have never seen him weep but at her death. No other 
woman I am sure has ever taken her place, and her room has 
never been unlocked, to my knowledge, since she was carried out 
of it.” 

“ Then, Hector, it is plain I must go mysel’. Friends or foes, 
it is as well that MacAllister should hae his wits about him 
when he sees these men first.” 

“We are a troublesome family to you, Fraser. I declare, it 
passes me to tell why you take so much interest in our fort- 
unes. I am sure the money you get hardly pays your ex- 
penses.” 

“ I tak’ my lawfu’ commission always in the way o’ business ; 
but there is mair than business here ; I am paying aff an auld 
debt, lad, and I like to pay it. Do you want to ken how much 
I owe the MacAllisters ?” 

Hector smiled disbelievingly and nodded his head. 

“ I’ll tell you, laddie. The Frasers — as the whole warld kens 
o’ them — have aye been daft anent the unlucky Stuarts. They 
‘ flung up their bonnets wi’ bonnie Dundee,’ and my ain father 

2 


18 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


fonght wi’ him at the pass o’ Killecrankie. Then when he was 
hunted all through these hills for fighting for the king he liked 
best, the Laird Alexander MacAllister hid him, and fed him, 
and got him safe awa’ to France ; though he himself was in 
trouble anent the same matter. That was nae lesson to me^ 
for when the Chevalier cam’ o’er the water I sided wi’ the Stu- 
arts again, and your father and I fought side by side at Sher- 
iff muir. For that folly I owe him my life twice over; he 
saved me on the battle-field, and afterwards he made a certain 
grand kinsman o’ his save me from the hanging at Carlisle 
gate. Sae ye see I hae a long score to pay aff. Hector, and I 
like to pay it.” 

The next morning Fraser set out with a convoy of six men 
to seek the laird in the Edderkyles, and Hector was conscious 
of a very unpleasant anxiety and restlessness all day. It was 
also exceedingly sultry, and in the gloaming, when he had given 
up all hope of his visitors, he was no longer able to resist the 
temptation to walk outside the castle court. There was a little 
plateau one hundred feet down the mountain ; it was thickly 
planted with pines on one side, but on the other it was free and 
open, and standing there one could overlook the whole strath. 

It was the sweetest hour of the gloaming, the evening crim- 
son hung over the mountains like a royal mantle, the curlews’ 
wild bravura echoed from the fells, and the craik of the rail 
came faintly up from the valley. The bat and the heavy 
moths and the musing owl were abroad, but for any other life 
Hector believed himself to be quite alone. 

Suddenly he became intensely conscious of companionship, 
the companionship of a human soul. He stood up and looked 
carefully around, but though he was convinced of this impres- 
sion, however inexplicable such a sensation is, he kept a sharp 
lookout, for he knew not whether it might be friend or foe. 

The wood was growing dark ; if he had an enemy to meet 
he preferred doing so where at least he would not be in danger 
of an assassin’s blow. So he turned towards the castle, and 
then in the clearer light he saw a figure leaning against a large 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


19 


fir-tree. He saw it to be a woman’s figure, slight and young. 
She turned and faced him as he approached, gazing steadily at 
him ; and if she had been watching him in the wood with those 
great, lustrous dark eyes, there was no wonder that Hector had 
been troubled by their eager questioning. In the dim light 
they shone like lamps, and compelled him to stand before her 
quite fascinated by their gaze. 

He never thought of her dress, he saw only the slight, grace- 
ful figure, and the pale, oval face lit by those wonderful eyes. 
For a moment they looked silently at each other, then Hector’s 
native gentlemanhood asserted itself. He doffed his bonnet 
and said, “ I am afraid you have lost your way. Can I be of 
service to you?” 

“ I have not lost my way, sir.” 

‘‘ There is not a MacAllister that would hurt a lady on their 
own hills, but the night grows late, and I have heard of strangers 
around. Can I see you safely to your friends ?” 

‘‘ Can you tell me where I can have speech with the young 
Laird of MacAllister?” 

“ I am he.” 

“ How shall I know that ?” 

“ 1 have said so. I would not lie to you.” 

“Then listen. Your brother Angus has done a very foolish 
thing, and may be in great danger from it. I know not ; but 
you have a lawyer with you, ask him. It is thus, and so. Two 
days ago he and his companions met some men coming to 
Strathleven. They beguiled them away to the caves of Logan, 
and while the men were in a drunken sleep took from them 
their papers and left them to find their way home again. If 
they get over Logan bogs they will be in Perth within two or 
three days. That is all.” 

“ One moment stay. When shall I see you again ?” 

“ If you need any help to save Angus MacAllister from 
trouble, fasten the ribbon from your bonnet to this tree. I 
will meet you here as soon after as may be.” 

“ Before you go tell me what I must call you ?” 


20 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“There is no need to name me; we may possibly never 
meet again.” 

Then she waved her hand in a way Hector felt himself bound 
to respect, and glided rapidly into the wood. He went towards 
home greatly troubled. If only Fraser had been at Strathleven ! 
It was indeed evident that he must follow him as soon as pos- 
sible. Full of this determination he approached the castle, and 
was astonished to find it the scene of unusual bustle. Lights 
were in many rooms, servants hurrying to and fro, and as he 
neared the court he heard his father’s voice in a more than or- 
dinary exultant tone. Angus was with him, Angus and Fraser 
both ; and on every face but that of the old lawyer there were 
marks of triumphant satisfaction. 

When Hector entered, the laird began over again the tale he 
was telling his clansman — the tale of “ six limbs o’ the law ” 
who had been beguiled by Angus and Ewen. Amid roars of 
laughter he described the struggles of the “ city loons ” through 
the Lachy Moss, and over the Nob of Kerrycan, and ankle-deep 
in the sands of Winn Ness. “ And here’s the papers, my pretty 
men, that were to clap your chief atween four stane walls. 
Now what will I do wi’ them ?” 

“ Burn them, MacAllister, burn them, and I’ll tune up my 
chanter, and we’ll hae a strathspey to the bleeze o’ them,” cried 
the clan piper, and so, in spite of Hector and Fraser’s appeals to 
be heard, the papers were flung on the red-bot peats, while Roy 
MacAllister, piper and gentleman, blew out the wildest stave of 
the wildest dance music in the whole world. 

The laird himself led off the measure with his stately younger 
son, the piper striding up and down the hall, and stirring to a 
kind of frenzy the yet half-wild blood of the “ wild MacAllis- 
ters.” The dancing, enthusiastic as it was, was soon further 
stimulated by shrill cries and loud snappings of the fingers. 
The excitement soon became intoxicating. Hector found him- 
self unable to resist it. He took his brother by the hand, the 
old laird bowed to Fraser, the lawyer stepped boldly out, and 
to the cheers of the clansmen and the delirious notes of “ Lady 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


21 


Flora Macdonald ” they danced that night a wonderful four- 
some reel. 

Of course, when the night’s revelry was over and the morning 
brought reflection, Fraser was full of regrets for his weakness. 
“ I dinna ken whatever cam o’er me,” he said, penitently, to 
Hector, “ but when I saw MacAllister stepping sae stately east 
and west, and smiling sae happily, and holding out his hand 
sae heartily, the auld spirit took clean possession o’ me, and I 
wad hae danced if I had danced my head aff^ — mair shame to a 
graybeard like me.” 

“ You danced well, Fraser ; not even Angus had a finer spring 
than you had, or a more graceful step. Every one thought it 
wonderful in you.” 

“ Yes,” said the old fellow, more than half-pleased, ‘‘ I was 
aye noticed in my young days for my neat foot and leg. I 
dinna think they dance as weel now as they did thirty years 
syne. But, Hector, that’s enou’ and mair than enou’ o’ this 
foolishness. What is to be done now anent thae bills and 
papers ?” 

‘‘ Let sleeping dogs lie, Fraser. Maybe they won’t trouble 
us again in that fashion. Father and Angus are so proud and 
happy ; let us hope for the best.” 

“ A vera pretty slogan, lad, but wha is to pay the piper that 
plays it ? When you speak that way, ye have not thought o’ 
the charges now hanging o’er the heads o’ Angus and Ewen.” 

“ What charges ?” 

“Just highway robbery, and no less; besides the crime o’ 
hindering and obstructing the king’s messengers on the king’s 
highway. They wad hae made an act o’ treason not many 
years syne, and it will be an affair o’ the hulks or the planta- 
tions if it comes to trial. I’m doubting we are all in a bad 
box.” 

“ Oh, Fraser, whatever must be done ?” 

“ I must e’en gae my ways to Perth as fast as four legs can 
carry me, and see if the money and the expenses and a gude 
bit o’ humble pie will put things right. Angus must be got 


22 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


out o’ the way till there is a dead surety on the condonation. 
It is a meeserable ending o’ all the hurly-burly o’ last night, but 
I hae seen whole towns lose their senses in the same way — fire 
cannons, ring bells, light bonfires, and then wake up and find 
they had only been dreaming o’ victory.” 

“ Fraser, let me go with you to Perth. I ought to eat my 
own share of this humble pie, and I should be sorry.” 

“ Never be sorry. Hector. To speak in your ear, lad, I 
wouldna hae missed last night for half my bank-book. I was 
young again for just five hours — I was young again. I have 
not steppet in yonder reel since the night I danced it wi’ 
bonnie Bessie Ballantyne, when the great Duke o’ Gordon 
opened the ball o’ the clans at Inverness. But put your bonnet 
on your head and walk beside my powny a mile or twa, I hae 
mair to talk about than bonnie lasses and foursome reels.” 


CHAPTER III. 

ASSYNT AND GRACE CAMERON. 

“ The light of love, the purity of grace, 

The mind, the music breathing from her face, 

The heart whose softness harmonized the whole.” 

After the feast comes the reckoning, and, unfortunately, 
none of the revellers in this case had calculated beforehand the 
cost of their entertainment. Fraser was counting it, with a 
very grim face, as he and Hector went silently down the moun- 
tain. But by the time they had reached the strath, and could 
converse, he had accepted the bill, and made up his mind to 
pay it as cheerfully as possible. 

“Onyway, we had a gran’ time yestreen, Hector,” he said, 
with a suppressed chuckle, “ and I’m no grudging the payment 
of it — just ance in a lifetime. If Deacon Davie Strang could 
hae seen me 1 He wad ca’ a kirk session, if, indeed, he be- 
lieved his ain een !” 

“ Yes, we had a grand time, Fraser ; and when Allister played 
‘ Carle now the king’s come !’ I could scarcely keep my dirk 
in my belt.” 

“ A’ of us forgot we were sworn Whiggers. I am glad the 
Stuarts are o’er the water ; but what if they should come back. 
Hector ?” 

“ We should e’en pin on the white cockade and cry ^ Clay- 
more !’ for Charlie !” 

“ But why are we talking in this daftlike way ? It is anent 
money and sheriff’s doings we ought to be caring this morn- 
ing, for, to tell you the truth, I dinna see our way clearly out of 
this writ-burning business.” 


24 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


‘‘ But you can go and pay the bill, and you need not know 
anything about the burning.” 

“ I’m no the lad to tell on inysel’, and they’ll hae to prove 
the personality o’ Angus and Ewen, and to do that they’ll hae 
to put eyes on them again. There are few laws Andrew 
Fraser canna find a way through ; but I’m feared, I’m feared, 
Hector lad, that there is no way to avoid expenses. Just bills 
I’m aye for paying, but expenses on them is anither kind o’ 
thing. However, I shall do my best, and you must speak wi’ 
the laird about thae MacGunns and their land.” 

“ They want really to go to Canada ?” 

“’Deed do they. They are daft to go. There is naebody 
to fight wi’ here now, and they hae heard tell o’ the big woods 
full o’ game and Indians. It’s the Indians that pleases them, 
nae doubt o’ that. There will be some braw fights atween 
them, if they only get there.” 

“And the Sinclairs will buy the land from us?” 

“ That will they, and glad to do it ; they are ‘ getting folk,’ 
thae Sinclairs.” 

“ And with this money you propose — ” 

“ To send the MacGunns where they want to go, and help 
the MacAllisters to start as drovers and fishers. Why does 
your father want a big ‘tail’ after him now? He cannot take 
eight hundred men and go into Moray’s land or Argyle’s land, 
and drive hame cattle and wheat for them in these times. He 
can’t pick a quarrel now wi’ a neighbor that has aught he 
wants, and then go and harry him out o’ it. Thae days are 
gane forever. The men themsel’s are tired of doing nothing, 
and having nothing they’ll be glad to pick up their own living, 
and you’ll gie them a start.” 

“ I will say all this to my father, perhaps he may listen.” 

“ Whiles he will listen, and then whiles he won’t listen, but 
keep aye at it. Facts are stubborn things, and they will win a 
hearing, sooner or later. Now you may gang back ; my pony 
has warmed to his work, and I’ll mak him show his best shoes 
to-day,” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


25 


“ You will send us word as soon as possible?” 

“You will hear from me afore long, and my advice is, till 
you do so, keep Angus where he can neither be seen nor heard 

How to do this thing was now the subject of Hector’s anx- 
ious deliberation, as he took the homeward road again. There 
was no use in trying to alarm Angus ; danger of any kind had 
an irresistible charm to the lad, and he was so contrary that it 
was impossible to tell whether he would oppose or accept any 
proposition. Naturally Hector’s thoughts reverted to the 
strange woman, who, on the previous evening, had spoken so 
confidently of helping Angus if he were in danger. Obviously, 
it would be wise to apply to her, and Hector rather liked the 
alternative ; for she was wondrously lovely, and he quite lost 
the thread of his thoughts as he tried to recall the clear, pale, 
oval face, and the clear, dark eyes lighting it up. 

Just at this point in his reverie he reached the little plat- 
eau where he had seen her, and there, to his amazement, he 
found his father, who was walking under the trees with two 
strange men, and Angus, who was sitting on the grass, 
beside the very woman whose beauty he had been dreaming 
about. 

For a moment he thought of avoiding the party, but Hec- 
tor’s nature was thoroughly straightforward, and, finding no 
good reason for such a course, he went forward to meet the 
laird. There was a soft and pleasant expression on his face, 
and he was talking almost confidentially to the men who walked 
one on each side of him. They were men of very unusual 
appearance, and Hector did not wonder that Fraser should re- 
member them for more than twenty years, and feel anxious as 
to their good or bad feelings towards the MacAllister. 

They were not gentlemen in the ordinary sense of the word, 
but they wore good clothes, and had that unmistakable air of 
being quite at ease about money which can never be assumed 
nor mistaken. Their whole appearance was rather that of 
foreigners: no Scot or Englishman ever had such flashing eyes, 


26 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


such lithe forms, such bronze skins. Their manners also had 
the perfect freedom and ease and indifference of men who 
‘‘ serve not.” 

For a moment the laird looked slightly embarrassed by Hec- 
tor’s approach, but only for a moment. “ This is my eldest 
son, Laird Hector,” he said, proudly ; “ and. Hector, these gen- 
tlemen are two very dear and near friends of mine — Jasper and 
Carruple Gordon.” 

Both men raised their bonnets courteously to Hector, and 
one of them answered, with a knowing smile, “ I have seen 
young MacAllister before, and he will remember me if he will 
think of the Grassmarket in Edinburgh.” 

“ Why, yes, certainly ; you are the — the — ” 

“The gypsy who prevented you throwing away two hundred 
pounds on a worthless horse.” 

“ And who sold me ‘Roderick’ !” 

The man nodded pleasantly as he said, “ A fine horse, laird. 
Such a one to bend his knees and tuck his haunches in ! He 
has an eye like a hawk and a foot like a stag ! Bone, blood, 
wind, speed, bottom, and can jump everything right and left? 
will you sell him again ?” 

“ Not for gold.” 

“ Good 1 Never keep a horse you don’t like, and never part 
with one that suits you.” 

“ Will you come up to the castle and see him again ?” 

“ No ; I won’t trust myself. I should want him if I saw him* 
You may happen to trust a cat with cream, but never trust the 
Romany lad with a fine horse.” 

Then Carruple Gordon and MacAllister joined them, and the 
latter said, rather wearily, “ Come, Hector, let us back to Strath- 
leven. I am not used to dancing all night, and our friends are 
going to the camp of their people at Duchally.” 

Hector was very anxious that Angus should accompany 
them, for he wished to talk with him regarding the position he 
was in and the penalties he had incurred ; but Angus insisted on 
remaining with his new-found friends, and there was something 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


27 


so charmingly wilful about the handsome youth that, as usual, he 
was permitted to follow his inclinations. The laird, indeed, 
looked dubiously at him, for it was easy to see that Angus was 
thoroughly under the spell of the beautiful Isabel Gordon ; but 
almost immediately his face softened, and with a sigh he turned 
away and walked thoughtfully up the mountain. 

Towards the top of the ascent he leaned heavily on his son’s 
shoulder, and said he was tired. “I hae had a hard week. 
Hector, what wi’ knocking about the forest, leaping bogs, and 
climbing hills, no to speak o’ the anger, and the anxiety, and 
the dancing last night. Then the meeting o’ this morning ! 
It’s the heart holds up the body, lad, and my heart is wearifu’ 
and sorrowfu’ this morning.” 

“ If it is this Perth business, father — ” 

‘‘ It is nothing of the sort, son Hector. Do you think I 
would let the tear fall for a’ the men-folk in Scotland ?” 

And Hector saw with surprise and concern that his father’s 
clear blue eyes were heavy with tears that he found it impossi- 
ble to repress. 

A woman might then have said those gentle, cooing, com- 
forting words which men love to listen to from them ; but 
Hector could not offer sympathy of this kind. He only 
leaned silently over the castle wall beside his father, and waited 
with a watchful patience for the first opportunity to fall into 
whatever mood the laird himself would choose. 

And he was too impulsive to be long silent, though his first 
words were a sort of apology. ‘‘ It is long, long since I buried 
this sorrow,” he said, “ and I never thought to weep about it 
again ; but the sight o’ yonder men and of that bonnie lassie — 
did you notice her, Hector?” 

“I did, father.” 

Who does she put you in mind of ?” 

“ My mother.” 

“ But she is not half so beautiful as your mother was. Come 
wi’ me, son Hector, and I’ll prove that to you.” 

So Hector followed his father up the wide oaken stairs of 


28 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


the castle to the closed door, that had been from his bairnhood 
such a gate of tears and love and pity to him. Possibly the 
laird had passed beyond it much more frequently than his 
household suspected, for the key turned easily, and there was 
little of that forlorn, deathlike atmosphere which always clings 
to rooms absolutely closed and deserted. 

He turned back the shutters, and the pleasant sunshine 
flooded the pretty chamber. That nameless charm which a 
woman’s clothing and pretty trifles give to any apartment was 
the special interest of this room. A robe of changeable silk 
lay across a chair, a pair of tiny scarlet slippers stood at the 
foot of the bed, ribbons, a satin kerchief, a bit of needlework, 
some jewelry, and a pair of gloves were the first objects Hector 
saw on entering the room. 

Its main treasure was, however, a fine picture, a picture of a 
dense forest scene, and a beautiful woman standing clearly out 
from its green depths. The face was well remembered by Hec- 
tor. It had bent to kiss him often ; and those small, shapely 
hands ! he almost felt again their light, caressing, lingering 
touch. Both men looked at it silently ; there seemed to be no 
words fitting until tears had washed away the silent reserve of 
years. 

“ You are a man now. Hector, and maybe you can under- 
stand how dearly I loved that woman ?” 

“I think I can father. I am sure I loved her. I can re- 
member yet how I wept after she left us. I have never forgot- 
ten my mother. I have seen no other woman half so good and 
beautiful.” 

“ And yet she was not your mother. Hector, though she 
loved you, and did well a mother’s part by you.” 

“ Ah, dear father, do not tell me that. You rob me of the 
sweetest memory I have.” 

“ Nay, nay, you may keep the memory, you knew no other 
mother, for the one who gave you birth died ere you could 
know her. She was a Gordon also. Hector, but no a gypsy Gor- 
don. She was a gran’ lady, ain sister to the duke, and folks said 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


29 


the MacAllister did a great thing when he won her. Bonnie 
and good she was, and I loved her — after a kind. 

‘‘ But we were not long married ere she died, and some mat- 
ters about her dowry took me the next summer to see her kin 
at Gordon Castle. One day something happened that made 
me angry enough wi’ my brother-in-law, and maybe I was in 
one of my vera warst tempers riding that night through Gor- 
don woods. 

“ When I came to a certain place in the road my horse 
wouldna pass it. There was nothing that I could see or hear 
to cause his terror, and, after trying words in vain, I struck him 
blindly and madly. Suddenly some one seized my arm, and in 
eager, passionate tones said, ‘ Do not strike the poor creature 
because he sees, where you are blind !’ 

‘‘Before I could speak or rally from my amazement, I saw 
the loveliest woman standing by the trembling brute’s head, 
soothing and talking to him. What she said I could not un- 
derstand, but she stroked and petted him until I declare to you, 
Hector, I believe he was sobbing like a child. Queer words 
they were, but the horse understood them, and I knew after 
that they were in the Romany tongue. 

“ I was that ashamed o’ myself, and that astonished at the 
girl’s beauty, that I submitted to her directions at once, and 
took the creature home another way. That was the beginning. 
Hector, and she soon loved me so well that she gave up her 
own life and people and I made her my wife. She was not 
clever, nor rich, nor a born lady, but she was a sweet, loving 
woman, and her smile, or her touch, or just the rustle of her 
gown, was a happiness to me.” 

“And the men you were talking with to-day were her brothers ?” 

“They were her brothers.” 

“And Isabel?” 

“ Is Carruple Gordon’s daughter.” 

“ Our own cousin ?” 

“ She is cousin to Angus. Now you see how the dear lad 
comes by his wild, reckless, roving nature.” 


30 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ And his great beauty also.” 

“ Yes, beauty is his birthright.” 

‘‘Suppose he should fall in love with Isabel, what then, my 
father ?” 

“ He must marry her. We needna look to marriage to noble 
us* We may wed wherever our hearts list; the MacAllisters 
are great enough to lift the lass they love to their own level. 
Angus’s mother had noble Romany blood in her veins; they 
thought it as good as Highland blood ; I would like to hear any 
one say it isn’t. The Gordon’s didna approve o’ me taking her 
to wife in place o’ a lady o’ their ain great house, and we had 
words about it, but there was never a Gordon o’ them that 
should tell the Chief o’ MacAllister what woman he should 
marry.” 

“ Father, you have spoken of this matter in a good time, for 
I have something to say to you about the lad so dear to both 
of us.” 

Then Hector went carefully over the fears of Fraser regard- 
ing the position in which Angus had placed himself by his 
high-handed contempt of the law ; and finding the laird easily 
alarmed, and disposed to be anxious about his younger son, he 
gradually led the conversation to the advantages of a union be- 
tween Angus and Grace Cameron. 

But the laird did not look at the matter as Hector did. 
“ Angus,” he said, “ would, indeed, have no land and but little 
money, but he could live by his sword, as many a man of his 
race had done; and as for marrying the girl he didna like for 
her tocher, or leaving the one he did like because she had no 
tocher, that was a thing the MacAllisters had never done, and 
never would do, please the Power above them all.” 

Upon the whole, the conversation was not satisfactory as it 
regarded Angus, nor in any subsequent one was Hector able 
greatly to influence his father, cither in respect to his brother 
or the clansmen. Tlie laird was very averse to meeting trouble, 
and he thought that when he heard from Fraser it would be 
time enough to take so distasteful a subject into consideration. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 31 

And day after day passed and there was no word. Angus 
was dreaming them away in the little camp in the fir wood, or 
else he was absent on short, mysterious journeys with one or 
other of his gypsy uncles, and it was evident that he was com- 
pletely under the spell of Isabel Gordon’s great beauty. 

At length, in the warm days of August, a messenger came 
from Fraser with very perplexing news. He had hitherto failed 
in staying the civil process already commenced against the chief 
of the MacAllister clan, and a warrant had been issued for the 
arrest of 'Laird Angus MacAllister and of Ewen MacAllister 
as the suspected perpetrators of the robbery and outrage on the 
king’s messengers. 

In a private letter to Hector, Fraser held out one hope, and 
he begged that in such an extremity “ pride might be put to 
the wa’.” He had found out that John Cameron, of Assynt, 
was the power behind the Perth directors. ‘‘ And you must 
just gang your ways and ^whilliwha' this new laird. Hector. 
Say that you hae to bow and beck a bit, a man’s bonnet in his 
hand never did him harm, and you ken weel I must trust to you 
in this matter, for the MacAllister will neither do what I think 
right, nor tak what he thinks wrong.” 

MacAllister took the situation, indeed, with real or with af- 
fected indifference. I have fixed my plans,” he said, and I 
am going to Golspie Linn to catch grilse. They are in prime 
season now, and some o’ Clan Chattan have trysted me there. 
It’s no likely that I’ll disappoint a party o’ Highland gentlemen 
for a wheen, peddling, pettifogging writer bodies. No ; I’m in 
my ain country, and they that come seeking me there without 
any invite will just come at their ain risk and charge. 

‘‘ But Angus, father, Angus ? What is to be done with him ? 
Fraser says that there are plenty in Perth who call what he 
has done treason against King George.” 

“ That for King George !” said the old chief, snapping his 
fingers in a passion of defiance ; and dinna ye fret about Angus. 
“ They’ll hae to catch the lad afore they can do aught to him, 
and I wish them joy o’ their chase after Angus MacAllister !” 


32 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ Father, I entreat you don’t encourage Angus in defying the 
law any further ; the day of reckoning is sure to come sooner 
or later.” 

“ Much obliged to you, Maister Hector MacAllister for your 
civil advice,” answered the laird, in a furious temper; “if Angus 
has done aught against the law he did it in my behalf. I’ll 
never be the one to ask him bend his head to either king 
or kaiser. If wrang he has done, he’ll stand by the wrang, 
and I’ll stand by him. Yes will I, though the heavens fall for 
it !” 

The last words were uttered with an intonation and force 
that forbade any reply to them. Hector went silently and 
wrathfully away, and the laird, after a promiscuous abuse of 
laws and law-makers, new times and new-fangled gentlemen, 
called for his gillies in a voice which brought them very prompt- 
ly around him. 

“You’ll all o’ ye meet me in Glen Linn within four hours. 
You’ll forget naething we may want for two, and may be four 
weeks’ stay. We are going to meet gentlemen^ and you’ll see 
I hae a proper tail after me, pipers, and henchmen, and a’.” 

Then he went to his desk, put some gold in his sporran, and 
walked rapidly down the hill towards the fir wood. Hector 
was too angry to attempt to stop him again ; he had not the 
least hope in any further reasoning, and he knew that he was 
going to warn Angus. Equally sure was he that nothing he 
could now say would have any effect upon the unruly youth ; 
he would take his own way, and be aided and abetted in it 
both by his father and his gypsy kinsmen. 

The embassy Fraser had set Hector was a bitterly mortify- 
ing one to the proud young Highland chief. To make Cameron’s 
acquaintance through asking a favor of him — to confess his 
father’s pecuniary embarrassments — to make apologies for his 
brave, handsome brother — to be either denied his request or to 
be put under an obligation — every light in which Hector re- 
garded his mission was painful and humiliating. 

“ I shall acknowledge the debt and ask the favor concerning 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


33 


Angus. If I succeed, that will be well enough, and if not, no 
harm is done save to my own pride, and — I’ll promise it full 
payment if Cameron runs in debt to me that way. Yes; I 
should pay a claim of that kind, I feel I should, to — the — last — 
tittle !” His face was dark and angry even at the supposition, 
and it was easy to see that the education and polish of modern 
life might, under certain circumstances, be quite unable to con- 
trol his inherited nature. 

He dressed himself for his visit to Assynt with an unusual 
care, for he had lived enough in fashionable life to be aware 
of the importance attached to a good appearance. Few of his 
countrymen were good horsemen, but Hector was an exception 
to this rule, and as the road, after the mountain descent, was 
practicable for such a mode of travel, he determined to adopt it. 

Assynt Castle was about ten miles distant, but the days were 
long ; and even if Cameron should be so inhospitable as not to 
offer him a night’s rest, he could return to Strathleven without 
any effort. So he ordered his gilly to lead his horse down the 
mountain and wait for him in the clachan below, for he had an 
eager desire to see the laird and Angus again, and he expected 
to find them in the fir wood; but when he arrived there the 
ashes of the extinguished camp-fire were all that was left of the 
late happy party. Of neither his father nor his brother, nor 
the Gordons, was there a single token. 

He was so anxious and disappointed that even the ride 
through the cool glens, and over the smooth, hard sands of the 
seashore, failed to restore his spirits. He knew the situation of 
Assynt Castle, though he had not been there for many years; 
and as its gray, square walls came in sight he began to recall its 
grim aspect, and the bare old courtyard, in which so many wild 
gatherings and fierce fights had taken place. 

For a moment a shadow of regret for the old times crossed 
Hector’s mind. “ Thirty years ago,” he thought, “ any MacAl- 
lister would have shamed to go the road I take to-day. They 
would have asked no man’s favor, and sorted the law with their 
own hand. I wish — no, no; what am I saying? Any man 

3 


34 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


can fight ; there are nobler things than dirks and brute force.” 
And yet the shadow of regret remained, for though reason may 
assure, it often fails to comfort. 

How great a change was slowly stealing into the Highlands, 
Assynt, under its new Lowland master, showed him that hour. 
The great bare court had -become a wondrous garden. Beds of 
August lilies, of heliotrope, and geraniums filled the senses with 
beauty and perfume. “ This is better than the shouting of men 
and the clash of broadswords ; yes^ it is better,^’’ he said, with a 
positiveness that still had a shade of sorrow in it ; and then he 
dismounted, for he had reached the entrance to the castle, and 
a groom stood waiting to take his horse. 

Anxious as he was, Hector still noticed with satisfaction that 
the fine old hall had been refurnished in excellent taste. The 
old Assynt trophies of battle, the battered shields, and glorious 
flags of hard-won fields still adorned the walls, though they 
were artistically blended with fine paintings of chase and war. 
The heavy oaken furniture, the soft mats, and the stand of gor- 
geous flowers were no incongruities in the young laird’s eyes. 
He had not studied epochs with regard to household matters, 
and they pleasantly united the romance of the past with the 
comfort and elegance of modern taste. 

He had scarcely time to notice these things when he saw 
Cameron coming to meet him. Generally Hector was deferen- 
tially polite and non-asserting with men older than himself, but 
he was conscious that in approaching the master of Assynt he 
unavoidably carried himself with a hauteur very much at vari- 
ance with his nature. The mood was perhaps the natural one 
of a proud spirit resenting an office it disliked, or it might be 
the armor of one who enters a conflict of which it knew none 
of the conditions. 

Cameron met him with outstretched hand and a very pleasant 
warmth of manner. “ MacAllister, I am glad to see you. I 
know you by sight and by reputation, and I am glad, very glad, 
to shake your hand, laird.” 

“ Cameron, I am sorry that it is a selfish rather than a cour- 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


35 


teous reason which has brought me to Assynt. I am come to 
ask a favor of you.” 

“ All the same, you are welcome, laird ; the more welcome if 
I can do anything to pleasure you.” 

But Hector saw that, in spite of the fair words, the old mer^ 
chant’s face settled into cautious curves, and he determined to 
state his business at once, before the new laird wasted compli- 
ments which he might afterwards regret. So without preface 
he entered at once into the particulars of his father’s trouble 
with the Perth Bank, and Angus’s boyish, ill-advised interfer- 
ence with the messengers of the law. ^ 

Cameron listened carefully to Hector’s story. He never in- 
terrupted it by question or remark, and when it was finished 
sat silent and thoughtful for some moments. Indeed, Hector’s 
temper was rapidly rising, and he was on the point of abruptly 
terminating the interview, when Cameron’s face cleared like a 
flash of light, and he said, cheerfully, “ Well, MacAllister, I’ll 
take a short session with myself concerning these matters. I 
am not prepared to speak now. We will have something to 
eat and drink, and you shall go to your room and rest; after 
dinner I will tell you what can be done.” 

“ At your time, Cameron ; I can find my way to Strathleven 
as well by night as by day.” 

“No need to ride at night. You say the laird and your 
brother are gone to Golspie; you have no company at Strath- 
leven, and I have none at Assynt ; we may as well make the 
best of each other for a few days, I think.” 

But Hector, in spite of Cameron’s courtesy, knew that his 
stay must depend on the answer to his request. If it were re- 
fused he should leave Assynt at once ; and even if it were granted, 
he was afraid that the sense of obligation would be a strain on 
his good-temper which he would not care to push too far. In 
fact. Hector knew that he was already in a bad temper, and 
that the chances were it would become worse. 

The frequent resort to the gold snuff-box he his 

Land was a symptom of very great agitation in ].£ector, though, 


36 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


as his servant Roy mentally commented, “ It wad hae been ta 
dirk as weel as ta mull that Laird Angus wad hae been finger- 
ing.” Still, so complex are our sternest feelings, that it is hard 
sometimes to separate the most tragic from the most common- 
place, and it is certain that not a little of Hector’s annoyance 
arose from the fact that he had forgotten to tell Roy to bring 
his dress suit. In fine cloth, rich laces, silk hose, and diamond 
buckles, he felt that he could take a favor more complacently. 

Such a little thing turns the weathercock of our feelings. 
Hector glanced at his servant and saw him busily plaiting his 
best laces, while his satin vest and finest suit lay ready to put 
on. "Hector was now disposed to look upon life as at least pos- 
sible ; and an hour afterwards, when Roy had carefully dressed 
him, he had gained a confidence and calm satisfaction which 
had quite restored his self-control. 

Cameron was astonished and pleased when he saw the young 
chieftain. Hector had unwittingly paid him the most delicate 
of compliments, for if the new laird had a very weak point, it 
was a love of that ceremony and deference to appearances which 
acknowledged the high social position he had won. His own 
suit of rich black velvet set off admirably his strong face and 
snow-white hair; but such is the influence of a fine personal 
presence, that Cameron acknowledged at once, in his own heart, 
the superior dignity of the native-born lord of the soil. 

He looked with keen pride and pleasure at the handsome 
young man, and in that moment there sprung up a design to 
marry him to his only child, and endow him, as his adopted 
son, with all the lands of Assyut. This thought was in his 
mind as he led Hector up to his daughter. And Hector had 
not been indifferent or oblivious of this probable, meeting; a 
presentiment of its approach had been an influence in all his 
toilet anxieties, and he had more than once tried to recall all 
that Fraser had said about the heiress of Assynt. 

But he had failed completely in all his imaginations. Grace 
Cameron was unlike anything that his fancy had pictured her. 
She was neither a Imyden, nor a spoiled child, nor a young lady 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


37 


full of the importance of a new position ; she was simply the 
very lily of a dainty, highly-nurtured maidenhood. Her dress 
was a ‘‘frock’’ of white silk, tinted with a minute trailing vine, 
a pelerine of softest India mull, with knots of pale blue satin, 
long gloves of exquisite fit and workmanship, and a little French 
fan, which she used with a great deal of quiet, ladylike grace. 

These details Hector took in at a glance, and then, as Cam- 
eron named his daughter, he looked into her face. It more 
than justified her toilet — it was fresh, delicate, and bright, just 
shadowed by the loose, soft curls that lay upon her brow, and 
nobly finished by a mass of pale brown hair, fastened on the 
crown by a golden comb richly jewelled. She had been accus- 
tomed from childhood to polite society, and, without being 
clever enough to alarm men, she was witty and well-informed. 
Taught to keep all her likings in thorough control, if she had 
a “ ruling one ” it was a very innocent devotion to fiowers ; and 
Hector soon found himself before a stand of gorgeous fuchsias, 
listening with a strange delight to her pretty praises of them, 
and watching with still greater admiration her fair face, low 
bent among their dark green leaves and crimson bells. 

To Cameron these two handsome figures, swaying and bend- 
ing towards each other, touching hands amid the fiowers, and 
changing smiles and thoughts with low laughter, was the pleas- 
antest sight he had seen in all the sixty years he could remem- 
ber. When dinner was served he led the way, but it was de- 
lightful to turn round and see Hector daintily holding Grace’s 
gloved fingers, and leading her slowly down the wide stairway, 
full of the yellow glory of the setting sun. 

Through all the eating and drinking, the soft laughter, and 
the merry talk, John Cameron was turning over and over one 
single thought — the suitableness of a marriage between Grace 
and Hector. And there was really nothing selfish in his 
scheme ; he had taken a sudden and warm liking for the 
young laird, but Hector’s handsome face and stately manners 
had touched Cameron’s fancy quite as much as his ancestral 
acres or his ancient pedigree. 


CHAPTER TV. 

LAIRD ANGUS AND A HORSE-TRADE. 

“A proper man, as one shall see in a summer’s day.” 

“ The boy hath sold him a bargain ; a goose, that’s flat.” 

“A child of our Grandmother Eve — or for thy more sweet understand- 
ing, a woman.” 

Cameron, though capable of iudulging a romantic liking, 
was by no means reckless as to what concerned the real wel- 
fare of those whom he loved. When Grace had left the two 
men alone over their cups, he resumed at once the business 
which had brought Hector to Assynt. 

I have sent a swift messenger to Perth two hours ago, Mac- 
Allister,” he said. ‘‘ The bank has acted in a way which I re- 
gret exceedingly. I have also advised Lawyer Fraser to pay 
the principal and interest due as soon as convenient to him. 
As for expenses, I think those who made all this hubbub must 
pay for it. The old directors would never have dreamed of 
forcing the MacAllister to pay an account, but new brooms try 
to make cleaner sweeping than is needful.” 

‘‘ You have done us a great kindness, Cameron, and we shall 
not forget it.” 

Tut, tut ! nothing at all ; you would have done as much 
for any kindly neighbor. Now, as to that foolish-like business 
of your brother’s, my advice is this. In a few weeks let Angus 
and Ewen show themselves in Perth. I shall have had speech 
with the men who accuse them in the meantime, and have 
made them understand that it will be best for them if the mat- 
ter go no further, or, if they are called upon to testify, to be 
very particular in identifying. All of the men are known to 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


39 


be o’er-fond of Glenlivet, and, what with whiskey and weari- 
ness, I should doubt myself (if I had not heard your confession 
of it) whether they had not dreamed the whole story. Now 
let us dismiss, the subject for the present; I dare say Grace 
will give us a cup of tea and a song if we join her.” 

Under ordinary circumstances Hector would have preferred 
his glass of Burgundy to the Chinese herb, for which he cared 
little. When he saw Grace fingering the frail, egg-shell china 
cups, he felt that whatever he drank out of them must be de- 
licious. Her charming seriousness about the pretty, womanly 
business was so delightful, that he heard only as a man in a 
dream hears the conversation which he felt himself compelled 
to keep up with his host. 

Fortunately, in song, the young people found a subject which 
made them at once sympathetic. Cameron watched them turn- 
ing over the leaves of Grace’s music, and heard. with a sense of 
content and delight their fresh young voices mingling in many 
a wild, pathetic strain. He had been accustomed to plan all 
his life, and little accustomed to see his plans fail, but he wise- 
ly enough told himself to-night that his present project took a 
woman into its conditions, and that therefore any hour might 
produce situations for which no possible provision could be 
made beforehand. “And though Grace is my daughter,” he 
thought, “ I may as well admit that she likes her own way, and 
is very apt to get it, sooner or later. Yes, yes, that is natural ; 
she comes fair enough by that bent; it is a good thing in a 
man, but in a woman it is troublesome.” 

However, there was no need to seek trouble beforehand, and 
certainly present signs were as favorable as he could desire. 
Grace looked unusually lovely and happy, and Hector was — 
well, Cameron hardly saw how any girl could help admiring 
Hector. And then, Hector’s land lay so snug to Assynt, it 
would be a shame not to unite them. 

Of course, these were the natural thoughts of an old man 
who had made money, and who knew its value ; but it must 
be admitted that even in Hector’s heart they were not absent. 


40 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


True, lie scorned to recognize them, and indignantly upbraided 
himself when he found his mind inadvertently calculating the 
sum of the united acres ; but, nevertheless, he knew that he 
nursed the dream of a rich Grace Cameron as he never would 
have done that of a poor one. Not that this w^as his ruling 
motive — he would have found it hard to resist Grace’s rare 
beauty and culture under any circumstances, but still it was 
pleasant to feel that there was no need to resist it, and that 
both his inclinations and his interests would be satisfied in 
her. 

It was singular that into the thoughts of neither father nor 
lover entered any fear of failure. As for Cameron, that was 
a conclusion he never admitted, and Hector was of the same 
temper. Waiting and wooing there might be, but he felt that 
in order to win Grace he would be willing to “ strive with 
things impossible and “ to strive,” in Hector’s code, was to 
win.” He believed in no other result. 

Perhaps his confidence might have been shaken a little if he 
had heard the conversation in Miss Cameron’s room that night 
as Grace sat before her mirror, and Christina, her maid, un- 
bound and brushed the young lady’s pale-gold hair. 

“ Did you see our visitor, Christina ?” 

‘‘ ’Deed did I, Miss Grace.” 

“ Is he not a splendid-looking Highland gentleman ?” 

“ Maybe ; maybe no. Wise folk dinna measure men by 
their inches.” 

“ But he has the most elegant manners, and I am sure he 
has a good heart also.” 

“ The heart is beyond kenning, Miss Grace. Manners I hae 
nae skill o’ ; but his lace rufliings were unco bonnie !” 

‘‘ Christina, you are cross. I ask you about a man, and you 
praise his lace ruflies ! You know very well that young Mac- 
Allister is wonderfully handsome.” 

He is nae half sae bonnie, nor half sae brave, nor half sae 
glide as the Laird Angus. I would na gie a nod o’ Laird 
Angus’s head for a’ the city airs o’ this young chief — nae mair 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


41 


wad ony o’ their ain people ; and I’rn thinking the folks who 
hae lived wi’ them a’ their born days ken which is the bonniest 
and the best o’ the twa.” 

Grace sat thoughtfully fingering a little gold bracelet for some 
minutes, and then said, “ Do you know Lord Angus, Christina?” 

“ It’s no hard to know him / There is na a shepherd on 
the hills nor a fisher on the coast that has na shared their cake 
and porridge wi’ Laird Angus. Laird Angus is ay doing 
somebody a gude turn. He took the end o’ his shooting- 
piece to the black Laird o’ Urquhart for troubling Rory Mac- 
Allister, wha — puir lad ! — was just casting a line in the Leatrie 
Linn.” 

Perhaps Rory had no right to fish in Leatrie Linn.” 

“ He’ll fish there now^ right or no right, or Laird Angus will 
ken the reason why. It was Laird Angus that put aff to sea 
in the big storm last spring and brought hame again Tavish 
McLeod and his six sons. It was Laird Angus that sent three 
o’ his ain lads to help the poor Widow Binnie get in her bit 
harvest o’ oats. It was Laird Angus who saved Luckie Grant’s 
little lad when he fell in the lake a few weeks syne. And 
when Black Dugald o’ Assynt Point said what he should na 
hae said anent bonnie Maggie MacAllister, it was the Laird 
Angus that stood up for his poor clanswoman, and made Du- 
gald eat his ain bad words at a dirk’s point. Yes, indeed ! he 
made Dugald tak’ the lassie on his arm to the kirk the next 
Sabbath day, sae that a’ might ken he was either a liar or a 
coward, ane or t’ither. Dinna talk to me anent the young Mac- 
Allister ; he is na worthy to tic the ribbons at Laird Angus’s 
knees !” 

“ Is Lord Angus as handsome as his brother ?” 

“ As handsome ! There is na the match o’ Laird Angus 
MacAllister in the North Countrie 1” exclaimed Christina, en- 
thusiastically. ‘‘ He is fit to be a king — and he ought to be a 
king, and it’s a shame to think that he is na the eldest and the 
born chief of the MacAllisters !” 

“You must be in love with him, Christina.” 


42 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


Ow, ay. Everybody is in luve wi’ him — lads and lasses, 
baith o’ them.” 

“ Well, that will do ; and you may leave me to-night, Chris- 
tina.” 

But she could not so dismiss the imaginary Laird Angus 
that Christina had raised. All his splendid beauty and bravery 
might be a myth, but none the less it strangely influenced Grace. 
Hector was sensible of some change in Grace, but he never 
dreamed that it was a shadowy ideal of his brother which 
stood between them, nor did any feeling of jealousy touch him 
when he found Grace so interested in Angus and so willing to 
talk about him. 

He loved Angus so dearly himself that he always gladly 
suffered the conversation to revert to him. Sitting together 
through the hot, sweet hours in the shady summer-house, it was 
so pleasant to watch Grace bending over her lace-work, listen- 
ing with glowing cheeks to his tales of Angus’s wild advent- 
ures — so pleasant to see her pretty triumph in Angus’s triumph 
over young Grant of Grant. 

“ And your brother took the dirk out of Grant’s belt ?” she 
asked, with kindling eyes. 

‘‘ Yes, he did that, and he defied Grant to retake it ; and he 
wears it to this hour.” 

‘‘ I know Malcolm Grant,” she said, scornfully. “ He used 
to visit Aunt Janet in Edinburgh. If I see him there again 
and he wears no dirk I shall ask after it.” 

‘‘ And if he wears one?” 

I shall advise him to keep it out of sight of Lord Angus 
MacAllister.” 

It was little wonder that in the charm of such confidences 
Hector told her about his brother’s last adventure, making for 
him all the apology possible — in Angus’s peculiar bringing-up 
and education. And it was little wonder also that Grace could 
see no necessity for apology. “ He did exactly right /” said 
this very proper young lady. “ I do not wonder that Mac- 
Allister stands by him ; I should stand by him too !” 



THE LAST OP THE MACALLISTERS. 


43 


Two delicious weeks Hector spent at Assynt. At the end 
of them he thought he might safely seek the laird, and inform 
him that all danger to his person was over. It would not be 
necessary to tell him yet of Cameron’s interference ; time 
enough had elapsed to suffer him to suppose that Fraser had 
effected a compromise, and sent him word to that effect, and 
the MacAllister was the last of men to trouble himself about 
business details. 

In those days young people of good birth were vastly more 
ceremonious about their love-making than they are at present. 
Hector’s eyes had perhaps said many things he would not yet 
have permitted his tongue to utter ; and Grace knew very well 
how tenderly and honorably the young chief loved her. But 
their only parting was made on the broad steps of Assynt Cas- 
tle, and in the presence of John Cameron and of Hector’s 
servant. 

And if Grace knew that Hector loved her. Hector was also 
satisfied. He did not expect from Grace Cameron more than 
she had given him. He had seen how the fair, cold girl could 
warm and glow over any topic that touched her sympathies, and 
he hoped that ere long those eager eyes would wait for his 
words and for his approach. 

When he reached Strathleven he found that there had been 
a messenger from the laird, and that he was at the hunting- 
lodge in the Edderkyles. But Angus had not been with the 
party at Golspie, and he had not met them at the lodge, and if 
Ewen knew anything of his favorite he was determined to trust 
no one with the secret. 

’Twill pe petter for you not to ken, laird,” he said to 
Hector, “ for then, if anypoty asks questions, you’ll na need 
to tell lees. And Angus can puckle her pelt her nainsel, na 
fear o’ tat.” 

I wish I knew whether Fraser is at his own house in Dor- 
noch ?” 

“Tacent man is Lawyer Fraser. I heerd o’ him last nicht; 
he was at Peter Finlay’s.” 


44 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


This was good news to Hector. If Fraser had been at Peter 
Finlay’s the night before he would doubtless be at Strathleven 
within a few hours, and he resolved to take no further steps 
until he saw him. He had not long to wait, for when he re- 
turned to the castle, Fraser had just arrived — cross, weary, and 
complaining sorely of the heat, and the rough road, and the 
tormenting midges that infested the swampy ground over which 
a great part of his day’s travel had been. 

“ But ‘ they that board wi’ cats maun count on scarts,’ as 
the saying is ; and I’ll be a wise man when I hae learnt how to 
tak’ care o’ mysel’.” 

“You care overmuch for other people, Fraser; and some 
of us, I am afraid, are not over-grateful for your care.” 

“ Grateful here, and grateful there. I’m no counting on that 
for my pay. Has onybody seen aught o’ that daft lad, An- 
gus ?” 

“No, I have not. Have you?” 

“ O’er muckle, o’er muckle by far. He gave me such a stun 
and such a fleg four days syne that I have na been mysel’ 
since.” 

“ Then you have seen him ?” 

“Seen him? Yes, indeed, hae I. And whar but in the 
broad streets o’ Perth itsel’ ? If Deacon Strang had seen me 
that hour he would hae thought nothing less than house-break- 
ing or highway robbery o’ me, I was that dumfoun’ered !” 

“ How came you to see him ?” 

“I’ll tell you, Hector. Cameron sent me a vera gentlemanly 
message anent yonder bank business, and I thought I would 
e’en step over and settle it out o’ hand, and be clear o’ the 
weary wark o’ it. I knew all would count cannilie wi’ me, ex- 
cept maybe Bailie Campbell, the new director from Argyle, 
and I feared he would be as contrarie as a’ the Campbells and 
their kin are. 

“ But I’m thinking they had seen the shape o’ John Cameron’s 
handwrite, for they were wonderfu’ civil, and Campbell mair 
civil than ony o’ them (which was just extraordinar, seeing that 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


45 


he was losing instead o’ making), sae much so, that when I had 
pocketed my clearances, and was ready to say, ‘ Gude-morning, 
gentlemen,’ Campbell insisted on going vvi’ me. 

“ He said he had a horse-trade in hand, and wanted my 
opinion anent the beast. I ken naething about horse-couping, 
l)ut ony fool can gie an opinion, and I wasna going to let Camp- 
bell think I did na ken a gude bargain from a bad one. He 
said he had trysted the man to meet him at the south end o’ 
the Watergate with the cratur; and I said, ‘Vera weel, I could 
gang that way as gude as ony ither.’ 

“ But just as we stepped out o’ the bank on to the cause- 
way, a man said, ‘Bailie, I hae brought three horses for you to 
choose from, and there is a gude place behint to try their speed, 
if you will.’ He was an ill-looking fellow, gypsy frae head to 
foot; and I ken na what put it into Campbell’s head, but after 
looking at him a bit he says to me, ‘ I’ll lay ten pound this is 
ane o’ them gypsy fellows that led Sandy McNab’s party such 
a rig in MacAllister’s land.’ ‘ What was that ?’ says I. ‘ Oh,’ 
he answered, scornfully, ‘ you need na pretend, Fraser, that you 
ken naught o’ that ploy — they were going to Strathleven to 
tak’ the Mac A1 lister.’ 

“I was a bit angry, so I said, in a pawky way, '‘going and 
getting there^ it seems, were wide apart. Bailie Campbell.’ Then 
his face blackened up, and says he, ‘ If I could put my hand on 
them as defied the law o’ Scotland yonder fashion, I would gie 
a gude penny fee to punish them for it. These Hielandmen,’ 
said he, ‘ ought to be tauglit how to behave themsel’s though 
we have to hang them a’ to teach them.’ 

“ ‘ It’s nane o’ the Campbells they’ll tak’ lessons from,’ says 
I, ‘ but here’s the horses, bailie, and you’ll need a’ your Camp- 
bell wits about you, if you are for trading wi’ these gentlemen.’ 

“ Then I looked at the ither man, and. Hector, it was Jasper 
Gordon, and he looked at me in that way that I could na hae 
spoken to him to save mysel’. Then he talked that fair to 
Campbell and put the horse he had through such paces that 
Campbell was willing to pay ’most any price for him. 


46 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ But Gordon seeing him fain, held off, and said he had one 
still finer. With that he gied a queer whistle, and a young 
lad cam’ tearing down the street, and this lad was just Angus 
MacAllister. He gied me the same glamouring look that Jasper 
gied me, and there I stood, watching him fleech and flatter 
Campbell till the trade was made, and Angus put two hundred 
pounds sterling in his pouch for a beastie no worth forty. Then 
he gied me anither o’ them uncanny looks o’ his, and rode awa’ 
on Jasper’s horse as if the constable were after him. Yoivll no 
believe me. Hector, but he sent a gypsy lad that night to me — 
to me, a honest lawyer — wi’ every baubee o’ the twa hundred 
pounds, and bid me gie them to the MacAllister. He did that. 
As sure as life and death he did. 

“ And you took it ?” 

“What is it you think o’ me? I’m no that daft yet. I 
sent it back to him wi’ a letter, and bid him mak’ a straight 
road to the Orkneys, or ony ither out-o’-the-way place he could 
win at ; the mair sae as Campbell had already found out how 
badly he had been hocussed, and had been to ask me if I could 
swear to the lad who sold him the horse.” 

“ What folly in Angus !” 

“ Wait till you hear the height o’ it. The next morn he 
sent Campbell a letter telling him that the horse was worth 
forty pounds, and that the balance was what he owed for 
meddling in affairs that didna concern him.” 

“ Oh, Fraser !” 

“ Wait a wee, there’s mair yet. The letter had this at the 
tail end o’ it, ‘Hielandrnen are na above gieing Campbells a 
few lessons at one hundred and sixty pounds a lesson ;’ ” and 
at this point Fraser, in spite of his pretended anger, could not 
prevent some very comical Curvets from gathering round his 
mouth, while Hector laughed outright. 

Then Hector told Fraser of Cameron’s proposition for the 
quashing of the indictment against Angus and Ewen, and Fraser 
accepted it in part. “ If Cameron would have a talk with 
Sandy McNab and the men who had accompanied him to 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLTSTERS. 


47 


Strathleven, then Fraser would make exceptions, and have a 
new examination of the accusing parties. In that case he 
thought their evidence would be so contradictory that the 
charge would be dismissed.” 

“ And what do you think of Angus and Ewen then, showing 
themselves in Perth?” 

“ ni never hear tell o’ it. I will na run the risk o’ having 
him appear ony moment in some gypsy disguise. Why, Hec- 
tor,” said Fraser, with a queer tightening of his lips, “ how 
would I feel, when cross-questioning Sandy, to lift my head 
and find thae black een o’ his laughing at me ! Na, na ! I’ll 
run nae such risks, it would be mair than my ain respectability 
is worth.” 

Ewen knows where he is ; I doubt if any one else at Strath- 
leven knows.” 

“ Only keep him awa’ from Perth, and out o’ the bailie’s 
speering after. He will let the horse-couping matter drop soon ; 
he is too proud to tell the country-side how easy a gypsy lad 
or a Hielandman got the better o’ a Campbell.” 

Soon after this visit of Fraser’s the pleasant summer weather 
broke up. The sheep w^ere folded on the hills, the cattle shel- 
tered in the forest, and everything prepared for a long and iso- 
lated winter. Hector had intended spending a part of it in 
Edinburgh, but he now considered that it would take him far- 
ther away from Angus if Angus got into more trouble; it 
would leave the laird alone, and it would be a greater expense 
than, perhaps, he ought to contemplate. 

Yet, after all, he knew that his decision would rest with Miss 
Cameron’s movements. If she went to Edinburgh, he would be 
very likely to find some excuse for following her ; if she stayed 
at Assynt, it was certain Hector would remain at Strathleven. 

One lovely morning, about three weeks after his return, when 
the calm, hazy October air was like an afterthought of sum- 
mer, Hector determined to take advantage of the exceptional 
weather, and ride over to Assynt. MacAllister, who thought it 
a first ceremonious visit, made neither remark nor objection, and 


48 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


at the last moment even condescended to word a polite mes^ 
sage to Cameron. 

“Yon see, Hector,” he said, hesitatingly, and with a sigh, 
“ yonder plan o’ yours anent Angus is na that bad but what it 
might be worse. You’ll look weel at the lassie, and if you think 
the same when you come back I’ll e’en lay my commands on 
the lad. Times are sair changed. Hector, when a MacAllister 
can neither rive nor wive when it pleases him.” 

It was with this fresh tether on his affections that Hector 
made the visit he had been dreaming of for three weeks. The 
charge fretted him sorely, took the glory out of the sunshine, 
and the holiday feeling out of his heart. But when he entered 
Assynt Court, and saw Grace, he forgot everything but the joy 
of her presence. She was standing by the gardener, watching 
him tie up the overloaded stems of some snowy asters. Her 
hat swung over her arm, and the fresh breeze from the Atlan- 
tic blew her soft, brown curls, and fluttered the bright cherry- 
colored ribbons that fastened her dress. 

When she saw Hector she came to meet him, putting out 
both her prettily-gloved hands, and blushing divinely with sur- 
prise and pleasure. Holding these hands, and looking into her 
face, all alight with welcome. Hector, for the moment, was sen- 
sible of nothing but his own rapture. The next hour was sure- 
ly one stolen from some happier life than this. They wan- 
dered in the garden, or leaned over the old walls and watched 
the waves breaking on the shingly beach below them. Hector 
was too happy to say much, but Grace talked pleasantly, in a 
low, sweet voice, that was better than singing. 

So lost was he in love’s first sweet dream that it was only by 
a strong effort he could command words with which to meet 
Cameron, who, about an hour after Hector’s arrival, returned 
from his daily ride. Then they went into the castle, and it 
was a fresh pleasure to watch Grace in all the womanly ways 
which appertained to her position as mistress of a large estab- 
lishment. It was a very happy day, and when the first slant 
shadows of evening began to fall Cameron said, 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


49 


“ Run away, Grace, and put on your habit ; I dare say Mac- 
Allister will let us take our evening ride on the sands with 
him.” 

Hector was only too glad to be thus convoyed. He knew, 
too, that he showed to great advantage on horseback. It was 
a very lovely evening, and the calm beauty of the autumn sun- 
set threw over the party a spell of happy silence — a silence, 
however, strangely eloquent to those who were listening to their 
own hearts. For a few minutes it was so profound that the 
far-off bark of a sheep-dog on the mountains* startled them. 

Cameron was the first to recognize outside conditions. “ I 
think,” he said, “ we must return now. The twilight will 
scarcely see us home, and I dare say MacAllister is anxious to 
ride more rapidly.” 

Then Hector remembered his father’s message of greeting to 
the new neighbor, and, perhaps inadvertently, he gave it a more 
friendly tone than it had been sent with. It highly gratified 
Cameron. He accepted frankly the MacAllister’s excuses for a 
personal visit, and requested Hector to name some early day 
when Miss Cameron and himself could pay their respects to 
the laird at Strathleven. 

Perhaps half-unconsciously, also, Hector intensified the good- 
feeling of this message, for the laird’s face showed that he was 
well pleased at Cameron’s recognition of the superior claim of 
his position. 

“ Was he that civil ?” he said, complacently, in reply to Cam- 
eron’s message ; then we must e’en forget his father and his 
grandfather, and give him a laird’s welcome.” 

4 


CHAPTER V. 

TWO QUARRIES AND TWO PROPOSALS. 

“Intolerable and not to be endured.” 

“The best-laid schemes o’ mice and men 
Gang aft a-gley.” 

The idea of entertaining Cameron at Strathleven once ad- 
mitted, the MacAllister seemed to take a lofty pleasure in arrang- 
ing the visit. Nothing of the pomp and ceremony incident to 
his rank in its most splendid times would he have omitted. His 
henchman, in full Highland dress, carried the stately invitation, 
sealed with the arms of the MacAllisters. 

The battle-flags and standards of the clan, colorless in their 
great age, and “ torn to glorious rags ” in the fierce fights they 
had passed through, were hung for the occasion in the great 
hall. All the clansmen were called in from the hills and the 
clachan ; they lined the mountain-path, they filled the great 
courtyard, and they lounged in handsome, picturesque groups 
in the corridors and on the stairways. Henchman, bard, and 
piper kept close to the laird’s person, and half a dozen gillies, 
each having his special office, waited at the end of the apart- 
ment the slightest call of the laird’s silver whistle. 

All this pomp, however, was in no respect out of place when 
it was considered with reference to the noble old chief to whom 
it appertained. Cameron thought he had never seen a grander 
mortal. Six feet four inches in stature, neither his seventy 
years, nor marches, battles, or exposures, had bowed his stately 
form. His head was still erect, his eyes bright and flashing, 
his voice strong, his skin ruddy, and his dress magnificent. The 
silken garters at his knees, the diamond buckles in his shoes, 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


51 


only indicated the general splendor of his tartan suit, flashing 
with gems and silver. 

He carried his bonnet in his hand, and advanced twelve paces 
to meet Cameron. These twelve paces had been a subject of 
hot debate. Hector had desired the laird to meet his visitor 
at the portal, but this condescension MacAllister had absolutely 
refused. “My father,” he said, “just took twelve paces to 
meet the Duke of Athole when he came to Strathleven to con- 
sult on King James’s matters, and I’m not sure that I’m doing 
right to put any Cameron even with Athole.” 

However, when the actual reception came, MacAllister proved 
himself a knight and gentleman far above all such considera- 
tions; for, seeing Miss Cameron upon her father’s arm, he over- 
stepped his line without a thought, and advanced to meet the 
lady with a courteous gracefulness that threw Hector’s formal 
manners quite into the shade. 

The fact was that Grace’s loveliness, set ofl by an exquisite 
toilet, so captivated the laird that he forgot, in the presence of 
beauty, all minor things ; this had always been a ruling motive 
in his life ; to beauty MacAllister had ever lowered his loftiest 
pretensions. Grace aroused all the chivalry of his nature ; her 
roselike, delicate loveliness, and her gentle, graceful manners, 
were a new form of womanhood to the old Highland chief, for 
he was quite capable of feeling the charm of a fair and highly- 
cultured woman. He thought of Angus’s dark, glowing face 
and stately form, and then put this flower-like girl beside him, 
and he was charmed with the mental picture. “Hector was 
right; a wife like Grace Cameron would be the best security 
for Angus.” 

The three first days of the visit the weather was exceedingly 
flne, and admirably suited for out-door pleasures. Cameron, 
keeping steadily in view a plan he had for inducing MacAl- 
lister to join him in the flsheries and other industries he was 
inaugurating, managed, during the period, to become well ac- 
quainted with the capabilities of the MacAllister estate. 

On the fourth day the weather broke, a storm conflned every 


52 


THE LAST OE THE MACALLISTEES. 


one to the house, and then came Cameron’s opportunity. But, 
somehow, he made business pleasant to the chief, for Cameron 
had bland, conciliating ways of putting things; he knew' how 
to respect prejudices and avoid harmless vanities, and in five 
days he accomplished what Fraser would hardly have managed 
in five years. 

Doubtless Grace and Hector contributed to this result. Cam- 
eron had his own views about Hector, and MacAllister about 
Grace ; and though these were not spoken of, the sight of the 
young people sitting together in some window recess, or bend- 
ing over the same book, or singing the same song, made both 
men tolerant and conciliating. 

On the last evening of the visit a circumstance occurred 
which bound them still closer together. The cloth had been 
drawn, but the two old men were still sitting at the table and 
listening to Grace and Hector, who were singing. Finally 
Grace struck up a wild, stirring, Jacobite gathering song,” and 
its martial refrain strangely agitated the laird. 

He slowly filled his glass, and then poured it out on the 
floor with the air of a man offering a libation, afterwards sob- 
bing out the refrain with a passion too genuine not to deserve 
respect. It was so genuine that it touched something deeper 
than all the prudences and reasonable convictions of Cameron’s 
life. He, also, silently filled his glass and followed MacAllis- 
ter’s example ; then the two men clasped hands as they had 
never done before. 

It was just at this juncture a gilly came in with a letter to 
Hector from Laird Angus. He was almost glad of the diver- 
sion. Whether it was the fourfold sympathy of the song or 
some peculiar tenderness in Grace’s manner mattered little ; he 
had been on the point of saying words which, alas, he must not 
say yet. Happily the transition of feeling was so complete as 
to bring an entirely new atmosphere into the room. For once 
Angus’s letter was altogether good ; he had had no quarrels, 
and he had been in no extraordinary dangers. 

Moved by various reasons, none of which he stopped to ex- 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 53 

amine, Hector began a conversation about his brother in such 
an enthusiastic tone that Grace could not but feel interested in 
it, and subsequent events contributed to strengthen the power 
which this unseen knight was gaining over her. Cameron’s 
projects were yet in their infancy, and needed his constant 
care ; consequently he remained at Assynt, and the two house- 
holds found the long, stormy winter shortened by such mutual 
hospitalities as the weather permitted. In all their intercourse 
Angus became a prominent subject of conversation, and Hector 
did not see that, however far he had touched her heart, Angus 
was the lord of her imagination. 

Thus at Assynt and Strathleven the winter went not un- 
pleasantly away. Many new hopes had come into the lives of 
the laird and his eldest son. The profitable changes Cameron 
was making on his own estate were to be gradually extended, 
and the prospects for the future lords of MacAllister were of a 
flattering character in a financial point of view. Both Hector 
and his father had come to think of Grace always in connec- 
tion with any changes at Strathleven, though they did not think 
of her in the same way. 

MacAllister discussed her marriage with Angus in the frank- 
est manner to Hector, and Hector had never but once dared 
to suggest the possibility of Grace preferring the brother whom 
she had known first. The laird received the supposition with 
incredulity, and hoped, with a scornful laugh, that “ his eldest 
son would never make a Jewish Jacob of hirnsel’, and steal away 
his younger brother’s fortune.” 

Hector received this reproof with a conscious silence ; the 
old chief was pitilessly keen where Angus was concerned, and he 
had looked down into his eldest son’s heart, and detected its one 
false spot. But Hector could answer with a conscious integrity, 
“I have been true to Angus, father ; always true. If I love 
Grace I have never let her see it ; nor shall I unless Angus re- 
fuses to seek her hand.’' 

‘‘ Angus must not — shall not — I will — ” 

“ Father, Isabel Gordon may stand before Miss Cameron,” 


54 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


“ The height o’ nonsense ! I’ll hear none of it 1” Then re- 
membering his former opinion on Angus’s right to marry whom 
he would, he said, querulously, “ I have changed my mind on 
many things, son Hector. We have gotten a new king, and 
new laws, and we must choose wives accordingly.” 

‘‘ You married where you loved, father.” 

“ Yes, and I went where I listed likewise. A man could take 
gold with his sword then ; he did not need to wed it with a ring. 
It is not my fault. Hector lad, that the nobler way has gane out 
of fashion. Forbye, I like the lassie ! Gold, or no gold, I want 
my Angus to wed her. Hector, dear lad, you will hae the land, 
let your brother hae the lass.” 

This was a tone Hector could never resist from his father; 
and, though he was not able to say a word in reply, MacAllister 
knew from the manner in which his offered hand had been 
clasped that no temptation would make Hector untrue to his 
brother’s interests. 

Still the laird was anxious. The marriage of Grace and An- 
gus had become the pet project of his old age, and he entered 
into it with all the earnestness that had characterized the war- 
like expeditions of his youth. Isabel’s influence he did not 
much fear — ‘‘they are both wilful, and both have tempers of 
their own ; they will have quarrelled before this. I’m thinking ; 
and I’ll e’en send for Jasper, and get him to marry her to some 
of her ain people,” he decided. 

This difficulty was the subject of his thoughts one morning 
as he rode over to Assynt. On his way there he met Dominie 
Talisker of Assynt, and as they were riding the same way they 
continued in company. The Taliskers had intermarried with 
the MacAllisters, and the laird had a great respect for the clergy- 
man’s influence and good sense. He was also John Cameron’s 
right-hand man, and it would be a good thing for Angus if 
Talisker would prepare the way for him by a word now and 
then in his favor. While the laird was wondering how best 
to introduce a subject so important to him, the dominie said, 

“ When did ye hear from Laird Angus MacAllister?” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


55 


“ Weeks syne ; I’m not sure how many.” 

“ Wherever he is, I hope he is behaving himsel’ better than 
lie did in his ain harne.” 

“ What do you mean, dominie ? You are weel shielded ahint 
your coat, or you would na dare to speak those words to me. 
And pray what business is it of yours how Laird Angus behaves 
himself?” 

“ It is always my business to reprove what is wrong ; and, 
laird, I dinna think ye hae done your duty by your son lately.” 

“ Oh indeed !” 

“ There was that affair with the king’s messengers.” 

“ It will be great news to King Geordie to hear that the 
Taliskers are standing up for him.” 

“ Come, come, laird, wrang is wrang whaever does it ; and 
though I might find excuses for Angus in a matter o’ politics 
and lawyer’s troubles, there is nane at a’ to be offered anent yon 
gypsy beggar lass. They are thieves and vagabonds, every ane 
o’ them, laird ; they will neither come to kirk on the Sabbath 
Day, nor yet listen to me on ony o’ the sax days. Ye should 
keep your lad out o’ such bad company, laird.” 

“You will take heed how you speak o’ my kinfolk. Dominie 
Talisker. Gypsies! Beggars! Thieves! Vagabonds! Eh? 
They are of as gentle blood as the Taliskers, and that I will 
maintain at my dirk’s point. I married my wife out of their 
tents. Now, sir !” 

“ Laird, I was wrang. I hae nae right to speak o’ ony o’ 
God’s creatures that way. What I said you will put down to 
Tavish Talisker his ain sel’, and not to the office he fills. I’m 
sair grieved I didna speak in a mair Christian-like way.” 

“ There’s a variety of Christian-like ways ; yours may pass 
with the rest of them. Gude-morning to you, dominie.” And 
with the consciousness that he had kept his temper wonderfully 
and got the best in the dispute, the laird rode proudly for- 
ward. 

This little incident only strengthened his determination to 
marry Angus to Grace, and he determined to speak at once to 


56 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


Cameron about it. Everything seemed favorable for such a 
proposal. Cameron saw him coming, and met him at the gate 
of the castle. He was proud of MacAllister’s acquaintance and 
anxious to win his good-will, and this morning’s visit was singu- 
larly opportune, for Cameron had been thinking of him, and 
wondering if he would be willing to join in manning a fleet of 
herring-boats during the coming summer. 

As they sat before the blazing pine-tops Cameron frankly 
asked his co-operation. MacAllister listened at first courteous- 
ly, and, as the pecuniary advantages became apparent, with great 
interest. 

“It is a good ploy every way, Cameron,” he answered, heart- 
ily, “ and I am wi’ you in it; there’s my thumb on it. If you 
will see to the boats, I will provide the men.” 

“You think your people will be willing?” 

“ I dinna think about it ; I am sure they’ll be willing if 
it’s the MacAllister’s pleasure for them to go. Why should na 
they ?” 

“ And the men are to have half the profits ; the other half 
you and I will divide. That is fair, eh ?” 

“ Fair enough for me, Cameron, seeing that I have no outgo ; 
but I’ll make it up to Assynt, that will I,” said the laird, proud- 
ly. “Cameron, I have taken your offer free and kindly, now 
I’ll give you an offer. Giff-gaff makes gude friends.” 

“ Any offer the MacAllister makes me I shall be very proud 
to consider.” 

“ Certie ; that is well answered, Cameron, and I don’t deny 
that it is an honor. I would offer myself, the Chief o’ the Mac- 
Allisters, if I was only twenty ye^ younger ; but I’m too old 
now for so bonnie a lass, so I ask your daughter’s hand for my 
son, sir. I trow he is worthy o’ it.” 

Cameron’s face glowed with pleasure. “Nothing on earth 
could content me more, MacAllister. Grace will have plenty of 
gold, but I value good birth and an ancient family like yours far 
beyond wealth. If my daughter weds with MacAllister she shall 
go to him full-handed.” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


57 


“Miss Cameron is worthy of a royal duke if she had na a 
bawbee; but doubtless the gold is both needfu’ and charming 
also.” 

“ She shall have fifty thousand pounds on her wedding-day, 
and Assynt, as weel as sundries in Edinburgh property, will be 
hers at my death. Besides, I really think the young things are 
fond of one another.” 

“ What is it you say, Cameron ? You are wrong there. They 
have never met each other yet.” 

“ Then we are both wrong, laird, and I am very sorry for it. 
I was thinking of LaM Hector.” 

“ And I was meaning Laird Angus. But you need not trouble 
yourseP, Cameron, she is sure to like Angus when she does meet 
him. Have you ever met my youngest son, Cameron 

“ No, laird, but I have heard much of him, and, as this mat- 
ter touches my child, I must frankly tell you that I could not 
sanction a marriage between Laird Angus and my daughter.” 

MacAllister flushed passionately, but he was pleading for his 
favorite’s welfare, and he made a strong effort to control his 
anger. 

“A few silly, boyish tricks, Cameron ; they don’t touch the 
lad’s heart. That is true and brave ; every drop of blood in it 
is true and brave. Everybody loves Angus best.” 

“ I prefer Laird Hector MacAllister, and if you are in my 
mind I’ll stand to what I have said. If they marry next year, 
or next week, I will give to Grace fifty thousand pounds.” 

“A poor penny that to buy a husband for your lass! Do 
you know, sir, that Hector MacAllister is not only laird of a 
clan as auld as the Flood and aulder, sir, but he is also the 
nephew o’ the great Duke of Gordon. His mother was the 
duke’s own sister, sir. thousand 'pounds ! Hector might 

wed a princess, Cameron, and there is none that could call it a 
mismatch.” 

Cameron bowed. Indeed, his prejudices about birth were so 
great that he quite believed MacAllister. He was not offended 
at his anger, but he was keenly disappointed at the failure of a 


58 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


scheme which he had so earnestly desired, and which had seemed 
to be on the verge of a satisfactory fulfil rnent. 

“ I am very sorry, MacAllister.” 

“ And yon will be sorrier yet, sir. However, gude-day to 
you and the laird rose proudly and walked towards the door. 
He was too angry to listen then to either regret or reason, and 
Cameron wisely permitted him to indulge his temper. He 
guessed that the result would be what it actually was, for Mac- 
All ister had not reached Strathleven before he regretted the ir- 
ritable manner in which he had left Assynt. 

“ A hasty man is never out o’ trouble,” he said, “ and now 
ni have lost all chance o’ that herring-money. Umff! Umff ! 
Let it go with the fish to the deep sea ! I’ll never hear Angus 
slighted for all the gold in Scotland.” 

He was in the courtyard at Strathleven when he reached this 
decision, and, quite satisfied with it, he lifted his head and saw 
Fraser coming to meet him. 

“ Weel, auld Pounds-shillings-and-pence, what new bothera- 
tion hae you brought me ?” 

“ I have come wi’ gude news, and naething but gude news, 
Mac All ister.” 

“ Then after that comes a cow to be shod. To take the won- 
der aff, Fraser, I have gotten bad news, though maybe you can 
sort it. You are pawky enough to help the deil out o’ a 
creel.” 

“ I dinna like his pay, laird, and — ” 

“Come in, sir, and Fll tell you all about it. Here, Hamish ! 
Rory ! Neill ! Lauchlan ! tak’ these beasts and stable them, 
and see the blaze is bright and the water boiling, and tell x\irly 
it is none too early for dinner. Come along I Come along, 
Fraser !” 

The lawyer took things more coolly ; he gave Rory special 
directions about his cob and the quantity of oats and water it 
was to have; then he watched its gait across the court, and finally, 
after a look of delight at the woods and strath, so beautiful in 
the glory of early spring, he sauntered up. to the hearthstone 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


59 


in the great hall, and stood rubbing his hands before the 
blaze. 

‘‘ Sit down, Fraser, sit down, man ! I want to have this morn- 
ing’s wark out with you before Hector comes in. Would you 
believe it ? I, I ! have taken two fair, square insults within the 
last four hours, and I have never said angry word, nor drawn 
dirk about them.” 

Think again, laird. Not one angry word ?” 

“ Weel, I kept my temper wonderfu’ with the dominie.” 

‘‘ What is this ? Hae you been quarrelling baith wi’ laird 
and dominie?” 

Laird, indeed ! A new cock laird ! If Cameron is ‘ laird,’ 
then I wonder what I am ?” 

‘‘ You are MacAlUster ! We a’ ken that. But what set you 
quarrelling with these twa men, of a’ ithers?” 

‘‘ What set them quarrelling with me ? Ask that. I met 
Talisker as I was riding to Assynt, and he ups and tells me 
more o’ my duty than I’ll stand from ony man — priest or law- 
yer. Still, I kept my temper wonderfu’, and I left the dominie 
very ill-satisfied with his own behavior — as well he might be. 
But Cameron was that pleasant, I forgot all about the little 
splutter, and he made me a proposal I thought very highly of.” 

“ What was it ?” 

“ He is building a fieet o’ herring-boats, but he has not the 
men to work them.” • 

No, I’m thinking not. Assynt has been in the courts for 
thirty years — neither laird nor master on the place; and the 
men have scattered maistly all o’er the world — weel?” 

He was to find the boats and I the men ; and we were to 
divide one half the profits between us. I thought I might say 
‘ Yes ’ to that offer.” 

“ Certie ! The advantage is clear on your side. You didna 
quarrel anent this, surely ?” 

“ No, we quarrelled because he refused to let his daughter 
wed with Angus. That is what we quarrelled about.” 

Fraser colored angrily. “I can scarce credit it, laird. John 


60 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


Cameron refuse a marriage wi’ the MacAllisters ! Why, he 
was fidging fain for it when he and I spoke o’ the matter.” 

“ Then you have been trading aff my sons without a ‘ By 
your leave, laird,’ have ye ? I didna think that o’ you, 
Fraser.” 

Hush, hush, lairdc You are talking without ony knowl- 
edge o’ the subject. I did naught but speak well o’ Angus, 
and bid Miss Grace look out for her heart wi’ such a bonnie 
neighbor lad. And when she blushed I just turned to Cameron 
and said, ‘There is many a true word said in joke, and this 
would be a good one to come true.’ ” 

“ And what said Cameron ?” 

“ He said naething could please him better, for that the Mac- 
Allisters were the noblest blood in Scotland.” 

“ And then?” 

“ I said Laird Angus was the prince o’ his house. Then 
Cameron poured out a glass o’ wine, and we drank it thegither. 
I understood that he drank wi’ me to the success o’ the mar- 
riage we had spoken of. I like not that Cameron goes back 
on a paction wi’ me.” 

“ Umff ! I like it not either,” 

“ Then I spoke to Hector about it, and he thought weel o’ 
such a marriage. Afterwards I spoke to Angus, but Angus had 
anither lass between him and his five senses at the time, sae my 
words blew by him like an idle wind. But for a’ that and a’ 
that, I am for wedding Angus wi’ Grace Cameron. When 
folks mak’ a bargain, though it be only wi’ the lifting o’ an 
eyelid, I am for seeing that they keep it.” 

“ Stop, Fraser. I haven’t told you all yet. He did not 
want Angus to wed his daughter, but he was keen to mate her 
with Laird Hector. He even said they were fond of each other. 
That is just impossible ! Hector has known from the first that 
we have sorted Grace Cameron to his brother. Then, besides. 
Hector kens what belongs to his birthright. The Laird o’ Mac- 
Allister and the nephew o’ Gordon, he must marry no woman 
who cannot even herself with him.” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


61 


You are right there. Hector ought to marry for the gude 
of the MacAllisters. There is nae cause why he should na sit 
in the House o’ Lords yet. If you will do as I tell you, the 
estate will warrant it in ten years. I’m looking to see Hector 
wd’ a duke’s coronet on him, that I am.” 

“ We ought to have worn it lang ago, Fraser, as you know, 
but for — weel, let that pass — but Ivor MacAllister had the 
promise of a dukedom fra — weel, weel, it was na to be, though 
the papers were made out, and had the royal signature — condi- 
tional. But it is a far cry back to Killiecrankie, and we need 
not name it now ; still, as you say, Hector may sort it all, and 
the MacAllister sit in the House o’ Lords yet.” 

The thought was so pleasant to both men that they silently 
indulged it for some minutes ; indeed, until they were inter- 
rupted in their ambitious dream by the entrance of Hector him- 
self. He had been out on the hills and was tired and hungry, 
but he was always glad to see Fraser, although Fraser, still un- 
der the spell of his splendid reverie, addressed him with a def- 
erence very puzzling to the unconscious future duke. 

Hector’s instant thought was “bad news,” but his first in- 
quiry dispelled this fear. “ Is there to be any more trouble 
about Angus and that Perth affair, Fraser?” 

“ No ; that business ended wi’ a girn and a laugh. Hector, 
though it looked black enou’ at first. At the second examin- 
ing neither Sandy McNab nor any o’ the others were sure o’ 
anything, except that they had been very tired, and drunk 
some hot whiskey. The judge gave Sandy an extraor’nar severe 
reproof.” 

“ Poor Sandy !” 

“ Hout ! There were compensations — compensations. Sandy 
was satisfied, and Angus is as free as I am. The lad is as lucky 
in getting out o’ scrapes as he is handy in getting into them. 
There is anither reason, however, for my present visit to Strath- 
leven. The Sinclairs hae offered ten thousand pounds down 
for the MacGunns’ land, and twa thousand mair in twa years. 
It is a gude offer, and you had better tak’ it, MacAllister. The 


62 


THE I.AST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


land is parted from your land by twelve miles o’ Sinclair moss 
and bog, and the men ai*e no near kin o’ yours. Let them 
go.” 

“ How much will it take to give them a fair start in Canada ?” 

“Twa thousand pounds will mak’ the whole ninety happy. 
You can spare that, for you’ll hae eight thousand to clear oif 
mortgages and — ” 

“ And then I’ll build my ain herring-fleet, and Cameron can 
get his men where he lists. I shall tell my lads not to let Cam- 
eron’s boats near my shore — they won’t mind turning herring- 
fishers if there is a chance of fighting too.” 

Hector rose to his feet and looked at his father in amaze- 
ment, but the laird would not see the storm he had raised. He 
continued to watch the blazing fire with a thoughtful smile, 
and Fraser was compelled to answer the young man’s look of 
miserable inquiry. 

“ There has been a little trouble with John Cameron, Hector ; 
and I must say, in this case, the laird is not to blame. Cam- 
eron has behaved badly — very badly.” 

“ What about? Be honest with me, Fraser.” 

“About Miss Cameron. She is gude, and bonnie, and rich,' 
but there is naething can excuse Cameron for declining a mar- 
riage wi’ the house o’ MacAllister. Too much honor for him, 
if he knew it.” 

Hector turned pale, but he walked to the window with a firm 
and stately step, and stood looking out in silence. No one 
was inclined to disturb him, and he was compelled to ask the 
question on which his life seemed to hang. 

“ You say that Cameron refused his daughter to our house?” 

“ Yes.” 

“ What had he against me ? Angus he does not know.” 

“ He had nothing against you. Hector. He would give you 
his daughter and fifty thousand pounds with her ; it is Angus 
he declines.” 

A bright flush which it was impossible for Hector to con- 
trol succeeded the deathly pallor on his cheeks. He turned 


THE LAST OP THE MACALLISTERS. 


60 


round and left the room without a word. But Fraser had been 
watching him, and his heart throbbed sorrowfully for the young- 
laird. All the same, he was determined to do everything in 
his power to utterly frustrate Hector’s love and hopes. 

For not the Mac A1 lister himself was as eager to advance the 
glory of the MacAllisters as Fraser was. He had even made a 
careful study of the Scotch peerage, and prepared a list of rich 
and noble ladies from whom Hector might prudently take a 
wife. Hector was to secure parliamentary power or a place at 
court by his marriage ; Angus, by uniting himself to the heir- 
ess of Assynt, was to extend the name and power of Mac All is- 
ter along the western coast of Scotland. 

This was Fraser’s plan, and he was by no means inclined to 
relinquish it because John Cameron had changed his mind. 
He did not fear Hector interfering with his designs for Angus, 
but he was sorry that the lad should suffer in his self-denial. 
Hector’s suffering, however, was a mere incident of the plan, 
and must not be allowed to affect final results. 

The three men met again in the evening, but they were a dull 
party. Fraser and the laird confined their conversation to the 
emigration of the MacGiinns, and Hector was silent and gloomy. 
But the laird always retired early, and Fraser knew that Hector 
was waiting to discuss the Cameron affair with him alone. The 
old man grieved for the duty -before him, but he was determined 
te enforce it, even when Hector, white and stern in his anxiety 
and anguish, said, “ Fraser, you have been a second father to 
me, and I know you would scorn to deceive me. Is there any 
good reason why I may not marry Miss Cameron ?” 

“ There are many reasons. Hector. I am sorry — ” 

“ Sorry ! Oh, Fraser, I love the girl ! I love her better than 
my life !” 

“ Not better than honor, not better than your promise to 
your dying mother, not better than the welfare a'hd dignity of 
a name that has come to you through a long line of ancestors. 
No, no. Hector ! You are na that selfish. I think better o’ you 
than that.” 


64 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


“ Oh, Grace ! Grace !” 

The cry was so heart-broken that Fraser felt a strong thrill 
of sympathy. 

Hector, my dear lad,” he said, mournfully, “ he that lives 
for himsel’ lives a puir, mean life. You ought to be the head o’ 
the greatest as well as the auldest house in the North Countrie. 
The last twa chiefs did well to hold their ain, but you hae 
chances they never had, and ye canna let them pass by and be 
guiltless o’ wranging the whole clan o’ the MacAllisters. You 
maun ceevilize these braw, brave savages, sir, and you maun 
marry to suit this lookout.” 

“Grace has — ” 

“ Grace has money, but she has na birth, and she has na in- 
fluence, and these you canna pass by, though the want is nae 
fault for Angus, for if Angus weds her, then we may lawfully 
hope that the MacAllister’s name will cover all Assynt. Ye 
ken I told you this from the first, and you canna and you must 
na stand in your brother’s light. There is your cousin. Lady 
Betty Breadalbane, and your fourth cousin. Lady Kitty Men- 
zies, and there are the twa bonnie daughters o’ the Earl o’ Fife 
and Buchan — ” 

“Stop, Fraser. If I may not marry Miss Cameron, then I 
will remain unmarried.” 

“ You’ll do naething o’ that sort. You must marry. Hector. 
You’ll no turn traitor against your ain clan and name. The 
Laird o’ MacAllister is bound to marry. Don’t go away angry, 
Hector ; say ‘ gude-nicht ’ to me ; I am your true friend, lad.” 

“You believe it, I am sure, Fraser, but I am heart-sick and 
cannot see the justice of your argument to-night, especially if 
— if it should involve another.” 

“ Do you think the lassie loves you ?” 

“ I had hoped so. I never asked her, and what a woman 
says with her blushes and smiles is all Greek to me. I cannot 
construe it.” 

“ All Greek ! Greek would be easy reading. Hector. This 
is a language for which there is nae dictionary provided.” 


CHAPTER VI. 

THE FIRST CLOUD OF THE STORM. 

“Rise, rise, Lowland and Highland man! 

Bald sire to beardless son, each come and early ; 

Rise, rise, Mainland and Island man ! 

Belt your broad claymores — fight for Prince Charlie.” 

Fraser took what he called “ a lang session ” with himself 
that night, for his distress at the unfortunate turn his matri- 
monial speculation had taken was not his only trouble concern- 
ing the house of Mac A1 lister. Though he had said nothing to 
Hector, he was quite sure that the laird had some unusual anxi- 
ety on his heart, and an incautious remark of MacAllister’s had 
pointed to a cause which he could only believe likely on the 
ground that it was so unlikely and so dangerous — the return of 
the Stuarts, And he sat long and late, arguing out with him- 
self the subject of his meditations. 

“Yon was a queer fishing at Golspie. It meant more than 
grilse I’m doubting. Stewart o’ Appin, and Macdonald o’ Kep- 
poch, and Glencoe likewise ! Unless I were daft to be ‘ under 
suspicion ’ I wouldna choose siccan a trio o’ Jacobites to go fish- 
ing wi’. There’s mair in the wind than MacAllister has told 
me. The Lord help us a’ if there’s anither rising ! And what 
will Andrew Fraser do? I’ll hae to get somebody to put me 
out o’ sight and hearing o’ claymores and bagpipes. I’m a 
member o’ the kirk now, and I hae gotten a bonnie place o’ my 
ain. Surely, surely I hae come to my senses ! Whatna for 
should I risk all on a whistle like? Is na ane king as gude as 
anither, and better too? And there’s that lad Angus. What 
will come o’ him ? What has come o’ him ? If there is water 

5 


66 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


boiling ’tween John o’ Groats and Carlisle, he’ll hae to be pad- 
dling in it. I’m an auld man — I’m an auld man — and I’ll no 
lose my head for a’ the crowns that ever were worn. But I’m 
misdoubting Angus sairly.” 

In the morning MacAllister was unusually inclined to business 
matters, but his uncertainty as to his proceedings in the MacGunn 
matter still further excited Fraser’s suspicions. The previous 
night the hope of £8000 clear money had greatly excited him ; 
in the morning he was not sure that he cared to sell the land. 

“ But you’ll never mak’ fishers o’ the MacGunns, MacAllister. 
Let them gang to Canada.” 

“ It is not for fishers I’m wanting them. They are grand 
fighters.” 

“ But what do you want wi’ fighters ?” 

“ That’s my own business.” 

“Are you going to conquer Assynt?” 

“ No jibing, Fraser. I have got business above your sorting.” 

“ I am your humble friend and kinsman, laird. You have 
nae friend truer. Let the MacGunns go. It will be that much 
temptation out o’ your way. Will you tell me where Angus 
is?” 

“ Don’t trouble your head about Angus. He is wi’ friends. 
I’m not to be questioned any further. I’ll answer no questions, 
and I’ll send no good men across seas. Now ! That’s my an- 
swer. But the Sinclairs are true Scots, and you may tell them 
to save their gold ; they’ll hae a grand use for it ere lang.” 

“ You are na fooling me^ laird ?” 

“ I am not wanting to fool you.” 

“ Speak to me plainly, then.” 

“It is not my time yet. Wait a bit.” 

“ I wish I knew where Angus was.” 

“You are not the lad’s father. If I can bear his absence, 
you may. I can’t whistle him here exactly, but he is not very 
far off.” 

Indeed, he was nearer than even MacAllister suspected. In 
the woods scarcely five miles from Assynt there was a little 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


67 


rocky defile, now ankle-deep in fresh green grass and wild blue 
violets. Here were pitched a couple of rude tents, and Angus 
was standing in the door of one of them. Those accustomed 
to seeing him in the costume of a Highland gentleman would 
scarcely have recognized him in his gypsy dress of corduroy 
and black velveteen, though in any case his fine stature and 
beautiful face would have attracted attention. 

Isabel leaned against the silvery trunk of a beech-tree, and its 
tender green shadow threw a peculiar charm over her bright, 
vivid beauty. There was a mocking, indifferent, coquettish ex- 
pression about her that seemed to be at once fascinating and 
irritating to Angus as he stood watching her. 

“ Angus,” she said, as she lazily counted the silver beads in 
her necklace, “ have you noticed Borzlam’s new horse, and how 
splendidly he manages him ?” 

“ Tell Borzlam that he had better not provoke too much of 
my notice.” 

‘‘ Ah, now you are angry again ! You have a bad temper, 
Angus.” 

“ Who gave you that necklace ?” 

Borzlam. Be quiet, Angus. I was joking Borzlam about 
it, and he gave it to me. It was only a piece of merrymaking.” 

“ I like not such merrymaking. Tell Borzlam that Angus 
Mac A1 lister jokes with his dirk. You are a coquette, Isabel, 
and I despise a coquette. If you cannot give me love for love, 
ril have no cheating — not a merk in money, not a smile in love. 
I am going away now. Farewell.” 

“ Angus ! Angus ! Angus !” 

But the young man was in far too fierce a passion of jealousy 
and anger to listen to the imploring cry. He walked rapidly 
away from the girl, who watched him out of sight, and then 
threw herself on the grass in a burst of grief and despair quite 
Oriental in character. 

Angus took a straight road to Ewen’s cottage, and the old 
man had evidently been expecting him. 

“ Ta things are ready,” he said, kissing the hands of the 


68 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


young chief with a devotion and tenderness that had something 
of a mother’s love in it — “ ta things are ready, and there’s nane 
kens she’s. set eyes on yon laird. Now fats your will and pleasure, 
and she’ll do it ; fate’er it is, she’ll do it.” 

“ There is a new laird at Assynt, John Cameron. Have you 
seen him, Ewen ?” 

“ ’Teet has she.” 

‘‘ He has a daughter. Do you know her ?” 

“ She’s seen her, mair nor ance or twice.” 

“ Then you must have speech with her, and none must see 
you, Ewen ; and you must give her this letter, and bring me an 
answer.” 

She’ll do tat same if she ties for it.” 

‘‘Is my kilt and bonnet and philibeg here?” 

“ Tat it is, and your pelt and plaid, and prooch and purse. 
Her nainsel cleaned ta siller puttons, and sorted ta tassels and 
ta lace, and it’s praw enough for a king to wear.” 

“ Then away, Ewen, and bring me word back as soon as may 
be.” 

Ewen took a straight road to Assynt, keeping up that pecul- 
iar running trot that is even yet the gait of a Highlandman 
among the hills. Arrived at Assynt, he went at once to the 
kitchen. The cook, though of the clan of Macdonald, had mar- 
ried a MacAllister, and he was sure of a bite and a sup ; the 
rest he left to good-fortune and his own keen observation. 

He did not judge incorrectly. Margery made him heartily 
welcome ; she was proud to show off her power and the many 
advantages of serving Cameron — though he was a new laird — 
and she gave Ewen of the best her larder afforded. He ate 
and drank with much condescension and complaisance, not any 
the less so because he had an idea that he was on a message 
likely to bring trouble to Cameron, whom he regarded as an in- 
terloper among Highland gentlemen. 

“ You’ll hae a praw place, Margery.” 

“ There’s plenty o’ meat and maut, Ewen, put it’s a sair down- 
come from ta Macdonald’s kitchen. Forty shentlemen o’ his 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


69 


ain name sat down ta meat tay by tay wi’ him, na to speak o’ 
ta gillies and caterans.” 

‘‘ Put ta Lady o’ Macdonald was ill ta please, and there’s na 
lady here you’ll pe minding, Margery.” 

‘‘ Ye’ll speak o’ what ye can ken apout, Ewen MacAllister. 
Young een are quicker than auld een, and ta Lady o’ Assynt — ” 

Just here a half-grown lad rushed into the kitchen, and in a 
breathless voice said, “ Ye are ta send a pot o’ clear proth and 
a cake o’ wheat flour ta Luckie McLeod, and tat instanter, ta 
lady says sae.” 

Then ye’ll tak’ it yoursel’, Tugald ; a’ our men are at ta 
herring-poats.” 

Hersel’ hasna time ; she’s awa on a far mair important pusi- 
ness.” 

“ Wha sent ye ? Now dinna lee !” 

“ Ta Cameron lady.” 

“Then I say ye’ll tak’ it ta the lady.” 

“ Hersel’ has ither wark on hand. She’s following a laird, 
and she isna at ony lady’s peck and pow.” 

“ Let him gang, Margery,” said Ewen ; “ I’m for ta clachan, 
and I’ll tak’ ta pread and proth for Luckie. She’s a far-awa 
cousin o’ mine.” 

“ Then you’ll gang yer ways, ye loon ! Out o’ my kitchen, 
and let na ta grass grow under yer feet as ye gang.” Then, 
turning to Ewen, she said, “ If ta lady is na there ye’ll na leave 
ta pread and ta proth, Ewen. Thae McLeods are a’ for them- 
sel’s. I hae nae skill o’ siccan folk.” 

“ Hersel’ is ta lucky lad,” chuckled Ewen, as he went towards 
the clachan with his basket. “Now she’ll speak wi’ ta lady, 
and she’ll gie her ta letter, and there’s nane will pe as wise as 
we are.” 

Ewen had seen Grace during her visit at Strathleven, and 
Grace recognized at once the MacAllister tartan on the mes- 
senger. 

“ I thank you, MacAllister,” she said, with a pleasant smile ; 
“ this is a grace deed on your part, I suppose.” 


70 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ Partly sae, my lady. Margery had nae lad to send, and 
herseP had a message for you, my lady;” and Ewen gave her 
the letter, he meanwhile busying himself with Luckie McLeod 
and the dainties he had brought her. 

In a few minutes Grace called him. Even Ewen could see 
that the letter had powerfully affected her. Her face was 
flushed, and her eyes gleamed, and her hands trembled violent- 
ly, as she folded the paper and pinned it carefully in her dress. 

“ What is your name ?” 

“ Ewen.” 

‘‘You are a MacAllister ?” 

“ God pe thanket ! yes, my lady.” 

“ Where is the person who sent this letter?” 

“ In her ain shieling, my lady.” 

“ Do you know him ?” 

“ Not when he doesna want to pe known.” 

“ Is he a gentleman ?” 

“ There is nae petter shentleman in ta Highlands.” 

“Do you know the Maiden^s Well in Assynt Wood?” 

“ I hae kent it fifty years.” 

“ Tell the person who sent you that I will meet him there at 
four o’clock this afternoon.” 

“ Py yourseP, my lady ? he said tat.” 

“ Ewen, if I were your daughter would you let me go by my- 
self to the Maiden’s Well to-day?” 

“ ’Teet wad she, and gie ye a blessing for going.” 

“That is sufficient; good-bye,” and Grace put a gold piece 
in Ewen’s hand. 

“ Keep yere gold, my lady ; ye will hae-a glide way to spend 
it ere long. Ewen MacAllister ne’er took service-money yet. 
HerseP wadna tak’ it fra her ain chief.” 

When Ewen got back to his cot he found a great change in 
his young laird. Angus had dressed himself with the utmost 
care, and Ewen thought he had never seen him look so com- 
manding and so comely. In this opinion Ew^en was probably 
correct, for Angus had throwm himself heart and soul into a 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


71 


great and dangerous enterprise, and its influence over him was 
distinctly perceptible. There was thought on his brow, dignity 
in his carriage, and he seemed to have crossed at a moment that 
invisible yet decided line dividing the light-hearted, careless boy 
from the thoughtful and earnest man. 

“ Ta lady will be at ta Maiden’s Well at four o’clock ta-day.” 

Angus nodded, and continued to pace up and down the small 
room. He was full of thoughts, but Grace made but a small 
part of them. Still, the care he had taken with his toilet 
showed that he was not insensible to the fact that he was go- 
ing to meet a lovely woman under very peculiar and romantic 
circumstances. 

Meanwhile Grace went back to Assynt with all speed, and, 
once in the barred seclusion of her own room, she again opened 
and read her letter : 

‘‘Dearest Niece, — You know what you know, and the per- 
son who brings you this letter will tell you what it is not safe 
to write. If he is tall and dark, and bonnie beyond ordinar, 
and gies you the silver rose you wot of, then you may trust him 
with all your heart and counsel, and do whate’er he tells you. 
Dear lassie, if all wins that ought to win, then we will meet, 
you ken where, and that sooner than some folks will like. 

“Your loving aunt, Janet Kilspendie:^’ 

There was a strange, bright smile on Grace’s face as she read, 
and her after-movements had an unusual alertness ; for this 
message touched something far deeper than the artificial polish 
and acquired control of a refined education. She went up and 
down her room humming snatches of forbidden songs, she 
clapped her small, rosy palms softly and proudly together, and 
she dressed and redressed herself half a dozen times before it 
was necessary to leave Assynt for the try sting-place. 

When at length she found herself within its cool, shady depths 
Aligns was already there. She could scarcely have seen him 
first under circumstances more calculated to make a profound 
impression on her imagination. He looked like some splendid 


12 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


vision of a romantic knight in an enchanted wood. She was 
scarcely conscious of anything but this feeling of unreality un- 
til Angus had fallen on one knee before her and placed in her 
hand Aunt Janet’s token, the silver rose. 

It acted like a talisman on the girl. She kissed it passion- 
ately, and, giving her hand to Angus, said, “ Oh, sir, pardon 
me. Bonnie Dundee wore this rose at the Pass of Killiecran- 
kie, and it pinned a hero’s plaid at Sheriffmuir. For the sake 
of one we do not name I am here. Speak to me without doubt 
and with as much speed as may be.” 

“ We are strangers. Miss Cameron.” 

Nay, but we are workers in one grand cause. The white 
rose of Stuart between us makes us friends.” 

Angus looked in the lovely, glowing face and caught its fer- 
vor. He felt all the new and subtle charm of loveliness, cult-’ 
ure, and enthusiasm combined, and to him this white-robed 
maid, standing among the grasses and ferns, seemed of more 
than mortal beauty. 

He led her to a large rock, and, sitting down by her side, 
took from his breast a parchment. Over this parchment the 
two young heads were eagerly bent, and when they raised them 
it was to flash back into each other’s eyes the gathering passion 
of an overmastering and dearly-loved object. 

“ See !” cried Angus ; “ I shall go to Lewis first and rouse 
the Mackenzies, and they will send the fiery warning through 
Uist and Barr, and call out the Macdonalds. While they do 
this I will go through Keay’s Land and tell the Mackays and 
the Sinclairs, and they will let the Ross men and the Athol 
men know when and where the wrong is to be righted.” 

“ And what am I to do ?” 

‘‘ You are to manage the McLeods ; they have been without 
a leader for long, and are taking to Lowland ways ; and you 
must find a sure messenger to the McLeans, and to Glengarry 
of Clanronald. The McLeods are doubtful, but you can go un- 
suspected through their shielings and see how many of them 
will draw the sword for Prince Charles.” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


73 


“They will all do it.” 

“How do you know this?” 

“ I know what sort of songs their wives sing ; I know what 
king the children are taught to pray for. One of the Stuarts 
married a McLeod in James the Third’s reign. I shall remind 
them of that, and what Highlandman will fight against his own 
kin ?” 

“ That is a good claim on them.” 

“ There is none better. The Stuarts have married into many 
Highland clans. All these clans are sure to come out. But 
when I have fulfilled the commission I have been honored with, 
to whom shall I send word ?” 

Half smiling in Grace’s lifted face, he said, 

“ To Angus MacAllister.” 

A great wave of color rushed over her cheeks and lily-white 
throat. “ I am very glad,” she answered, softly, and then both 
remained a moment silent. 

Grace was the first to break the embarrassment. “ What 
hope is there of the Grants ?” she asked. 

“Very little. They will side with the German laird ; he has 
gold, and the Grants are ‘getting folk.’” 

Grace had risen with her last question, and turned her face 
towards Assynt. She put out her hand frankly. “ We are 
confederates, MacAllister.” 

“ Conspirators, some will call us. Miss Cameron ; all the 
same, we are — ” 

“ Friends !” 

And Angus doffed his bonnet and kissed the hand Grace of- 
fered him with a homage and respect as sincere as he could 
have given to the fairest Stuart that ever wore a crown. 

Their interview had scarcely lasted half an hour, and had 
been in the depths of Assynt Wood, but it had not been unob- 
served. Angus had parted with Isabel Gordon in anger, and 
she had at first abandoned herself to weeping and despair. But 
a passive sorrow ill suited her passionate disposition. In half 
an hour she was following, with the instinct of her race, his 


74 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


footsteps. She watched him enter Ewen’s cot, and waited 
patiently until she saw him leave it. The abandonment of his 
gypsy dress and his thoughtful appearance filled her with a 
presentiment of trouble. She was afraid to speak, but she 
cautiously followed him to his tryst at the Maiden’s Well. 

Not daring to approach near enough to overhear the conver- 
sation, she had been tortured by what she saw. The splendor 
of Angus’s dress, his bright, eager looks, his gift of the silver 
rose, had all been observed. But these were not the things at 
which she was most hurt. “ He never bent the knee to me,” 
sighed the girl ; “and the way he kissed the tips of her fingers, 
as if she were Queen of Scotland ! He shall never touch my lips 
again ! Did not Borzlam tell me that a hedge-sparrow should 
not mate with an eagle ? I wish I were dead ! I wish I were 
dead ! But there’s others will die before me !” and, thus mut- 
tering, she went slowly back to the tents, jealousy, revenge, and 
love at that moment dividing all her thoughts. 

Angus watched Grace out of sight, and then, replacing his 
bonnet, stood still a moment to consider where he should go 
next. His heart turned to Strathleven. Indeed, he would have 
gone there the previous night if he had not been notified of the 
presence of Fraser. He feared the lawyer would discover his 
plans, and use his influence to prevent the MacAllister and Hec- 
tor joining them. But there comes a limit to all prudences, 
and Angus felt now that, Fraser or no Fraser, he must see his 
father and brother. Every step he took towards them made 
him more homesick, and surely the laird must have had some 
instinctive perception of his darling’s approach. For all the 
afternoon he had been strangely restless, going repeatedly to the 
window which overlooked the only approach to the castle, and 
gazing earnestly down the mountain path. 

Just at sunset he uttered a joyful cry. Like the father in 
the tenderest of all stories, while his son was yet “ a great way 
off ” he saw him, and, hastily putting on his bonnet, he went 
with rapid strides to meet him. Father and son came into the 
courtyard together, their arms thrown over each other’s shoul- 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


75 


ders ; and then arose a clamor such as had not been heard since 
that night when the laird and Angus had brought home the 
bills and charges against MacAllister and made a bonfire of 
them. 

Hector, who had gone a short distance with Fraser on his 
homeward journey, returned an hour later, and as soon as he 
entered the courtyard he knew that Angus had come. There 
was an element of stir and bustle, a sound of laughing and 
quarrelling, a clash and clatter that was never heard in Strath- 
leven unless Angus was at the bottom of it. 

His mind had been full of Angus and of Grace all day. He 
had talked the matter over again with Fraser, and found him 
stubbornly set in his opinions ; and he had been thinking of 
Grace at the very hour when she was plotting treason with his 
brother. But, heartbroken as he was, he never dreamed of 
blaming Angus. It was a joy to him to know the lad had come 
home, and he met him with something more than his usual 
tenderness, for Angus had been long away, and Fraser had given 
him some mysterious hints about “ a danger he would need 
much love and wisdom to keep him clear o’.” 

Even in that first embrace Hector perceived a change in his 
brother. He watched him earnestly awhile, and then turned 
away with a sigh. Angus had become a man. He would no 
more yield to his authority and return his caresses like a child. 
In that eight months’ absence he had gone far beyond Hector 
in many respects, and Hector was not slow to perceive this. 

Generally on his return from any journey, long or short, 
Angus had been full of story and information. The clansmen 
had always gathered in the great hall, and heard with delight 
the recital of his pleasures and quarrels and adventures. But 
this time he had nothing to say, although, in reply to a direct 
question from Hector, he acknowledged to having been, not 
only in Edinburgh, but England and France. 

Hector noticed also that there had been some correspondence 
between the laird and his son of which he was ignorant. It 
was evident in several remarks which the old chief unintention- 


76 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


ally made, and then hurriedly passed over ; and, in spite of all 
the excuses a patient love could make, Hector felt hurt, and re- 
tired very early to his own room. His heart also was aching 
sorely about Grace Cameron, and just at that hour life seemed 
to the young heir of MacAllister a very knotted and tangled 
skein. 

About midnight he awoke out of a sleep, and saw Angus 
standing at his bedside. He felt him grasp his hand, and heard 
him say, 

“ Get up. Hector. I have much to say to you, and I cannot 
sleep till it is said. Did I not see the angry thought in your 
heart to-night because of my silence? But it is come to 
this, dear brother — I have work to do I dare not chatter 
about.” 

“ Not to me?” 

“ To you my heart always speaks.” 

“ Oh, Angus ! my dear Angus ! Now where have you been 
these eight months? Many an anxious hour I have spent for 
you.” 

“ But Jasper was here, three, yes, four times, and told you I 
was all right.” 

‘‘ Forgive me, Angus, but a gypsy’s ‘ all right ’ is often ‘ all 
wrong.’ ” 

“Let that be. I have been in France. Know you what 
for?” 

“ I am afraid to guess.” 

“ No need of guessing ; I will tell you. I have seen him — 
and spoken with him /” 

“ Who ?” But Hector’s lips were set so tight that the ques- 
tion was hardly audible. 

“ His Royal Highness Prince Charles Edward !” 

Hector leaped to his feet ; he could not speak, but he lifted 
the hand of Angus, and pressed it tightly, almost fiercely. 

“ Do you wish to know more, my brother? Such knowledge 
is dangerous, you know that.” 

“ Oh, Angus ! What is he like ?” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


11 


“ Like a king. He has inherited through his mother the 
chivalry of Poland, through his father the valor of Scotland. 
If you saw him, Hector, you would do what I did.” 

“ What, Angus, my dear lad ?” 

‘‘You would kneel and say, ‘My prince, here is my sword 
and life!’ ” 

“ And where else have you been 

“ I have carried secret tokens to Moidart and Stewart 
and Macdonald. Now ask me no more, the news is not my 
own.” 

“ Only this — does our father know ?” 

“I had not moved without him. He has sent me gold and 
counsel through Jasper.” 

“Alas! alas!” 

“ Do not fear. Hector ; we have friends beyond counting — 
men and women. There are chiefs serving King George whose 
wives will raise their clans at the first shout for King Charles — 
but I am speaking beyond myself.” 

Hector readily dropped a subject he was by no means pre- 
pared to speak about; and, indeed, his own affairs gave him 
far more anxiety than those of Charles Stuart. After a pause 
he said, however, “ Are the Gordons with you?” 

“ Carruple Gordon is here.” 

“And Isabel? Do you still love her?” 

“ She has led me the life of a slave; I have borne much from 
her, but I will not bear a rival.” 

“ Has she given you one ?” 

“Yes, a kinsman of her mother’s — a man from Bohemia; a 
savage with eyes like a polecat, and long, lithe hands that look 
as if they ached to strangle you. He says his mother came 
from the far East, and he has a box full of her wrought gold 
and silver ornaments. He gave Isabel a necklace yesterday. I 
would not buy her love if I had the gold; and if I had gold I 
have a better use for it. Let her keep this kinsman out of my 
reach, I always finger my dirk when I see his scornful, crafty 
face.” 


78 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“Don’t soil your dirk with pagan blood, Angus. If Isabel 
prizes not your love, there are other women — fair, pure women 
of your own race and faith.” 

“ I saw such a one to-day. Hector. Oh, how lovely she 
was ! And she is with us, heart and soul. His royal highness 
told me in France that she, above all others, could touch the 
McLeods.” 

“ The McLeods ! You don’t mean — you can’t mean 
Miss Cameron? Her father is a Whig — always has been 
one.” 

“ Ah ! but Mistress Kilspendie, her aunt, brought up Miss 
Cameron, and Kilspendie House has been the gathering-place 
of the Jacobites for thirty years. It is well known that Prince 
Charles has been there in disguise more than once. Yes, Hec- 
tor, I mean Miss Cameron.” 

“And you have seen her?” 

“ I saw her for the first time to-day.” 

“Where?” 

“ She met me at the Maiden’s Well.” 

“ She met you ?” 

“ Why not ? I had a token for her that she knew well. 
Had I known that she was so beautiful I had not scorned at 
Fraser so about her ; but it is o’er late now.” 

“Why too late?” 

“Because I cannot change my love like a glove that does 
not fit me. Isabel sits close to my heart, and though she 
pains me often, I would not have her farther away. But 
yonder Lady of Assynt is good and fair as an angel ; she 
would suit you bravely. Hector ; she is over good for me. Tell 
Fraser he can draw his papers out, and put your name in in- 
stead of mine.” 

“ Miss Cameron will be likely to choose for herself, I 
think.” 

“That she will! She has taken her own side in politics, 
and the lassie who is bold enough to choose the king she 
likes best will choose the husband she prefers. Cameron and 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


79 


Fraser both may put that in their pipes and smoke it. But 
good-night, Hector ; we wdll talk more of these things hereaf- 
ter, only I could not sleep with a shadow between us.” 

“Good-night, Angus; there shall never be aught but love 
between us.” 


CHAPTER VIL 


THE RUBICON PASSED. 

“Wi’ Highland bonnets on our heads, 

And claymores long and clear, 

We’re going to fight for Scotland’s right 
And the Young Chevalier. 

Oh, Charlie is our darling, our darling, our darling; 

Oh, Charlie is our darling, the Young Chevalier!” 

If there were wakeful, anxious hearts in the castle, there was 
at least one wakeful, anxious heart in the gypsy camp. Isabel 
lay in the door of her tent, watched the stars, and planned 
schemes of revenge on the Lady of Assynt and Angus. She 
was aware that, for various reasons, personal and political, her 
cousin had been a sojourner with her people in disguise, and 
though she owned no king but the king of her own tribes, and 
cared nothing about the claims of either Charles or George, 
she perceived that Angus was in her power if she chose to 
betray him. 

This, however, was an extreme measure, to which she was by 
nature and education equally averse — he had broken bread in 
their tents, and trusted them implicitly ; he had been open- 
hearted and open-handed to all, and never scorned to acknowl- 
edge his kinship to the Romany. And supposing she could bring 
herself to inform against him, her father and uncle would de- 
spise her for such treachery. It seemed the easier plan to make 
Miss Cameron suffer, and she never doubted but that in striking 
her she would strike Angus also. Her grandmother, a shrewd, 
wicked old woman, would help her. She hated the Gorgios as 
a race, and always resented the influence Angus possessed over 
her family as so much honor and obedience taken from her 
personally. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


81 


Even while these thoughts were in Isabel’s mind the old 
gypsy rose gently from her pallet of bracken and came and 
crouched in the tent door beside Isabel. 

“ Did you know I was thinking of you, grandbebee !” 

“ Child, your heart called mine. Do not put a leaf before 
your mouth. Speak plainly; what is it you want?” 

Then Isabel, in a low voice, told all her wrongs. Angus had 
made a plaything of her love while he had been compelled to 
stay in their tents, but as soon as he was back at Strathleven 
he had cast away his Romany dress, he had quarrelled with 
her about such a trifle as a present from her Cousin Borzlam, 
and he had met this lady of his own race by stealth at the 
Holy Well ; for Isabel, in her ignorance and superstition, be- 
lieved that the meeting there was for the purpose of giving 
some occult sanctity to their vows. 

The old gypsy listened with set lips and eyes that gleamed 
like dull fires. Her hands twitched convulsively, and they 
were even more evil-looking hands than Borzlam’s, for the fin- 
gers were flat and bony, and broad at their extremities, like 
the heads of deadly serpents — fingers that betrayed a crawling 
and cruel disposition. 

“ You have made an idol of this Gorgio long enough,” she 
hissed. ‘‘ Now let me give their pleasure to my ten fingers, 
and he will never make a fool of a Romany chi’ again.” 

“ It is not him I would hurt, grandbebee ; it is the girl. 
You have charms and poisons, slow and sure, that will wear 
health and beauty away. I would see her grow old and ugly ; 
to kill her is to build your own gallows, grandbebee.” 

“ Child, I fear nothing ; my time has not yet come. Take 
comfort, for I have heard your trouble. They that wrong you 
wrong me, and it is evil for all who wrong Chuzka.” 

No more was said. Chuzka sat brooding with her head in 
the palms of her hands, and Isabel lay down and slept heavily 
until the sun was risen. Her deep slumber probably soothed 
her passion, for when she awoke her dominant desire was to 
see Angus — only to see him once, and give him an opportunity 

6 


82 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


to explain what seemed so cruel and treacherous. She ar- 
ranged her long black hair carefully, she put on all the orna- 
ments he had given her and the dress that he liked best, and 
took the forest road to Strathleven. 

She met no one until she reached the little fir wood half-way 
down the mountain where she had first seen Angus. Among 
its dark shadows she meant to hide until he passed, for pass 
he must, since it was the only road to and from the castle. 
She sat down wearily and sadly under the trees, and began to 
eat the oaten cake she had brought with her. A little brown 
squirrel and some robins came to her fearlessly and picked up 
the crumbs she gave them. She intended to look beautiful, 
but she could not tell how very beautiful a picture she made 
as she sat almost motionless, listening for coming footsteps. 

But when the footsteps came they did not come from the 
road, but from the wood, and, lifting her eyes, she saw Laird 
Hector watching her with a smile both kindly and admiring. 

“ Good-morning, my pretty kinswoman.” 

She was not Hector’s kinswoman, but it pleased her greatly 
to be called it, and she held out her hand almost gratefully. 

“ Sit still, Isabel ; you make an exquisite picture. I could 
fancy you some old Roman wood-nymph.” 

I am but a poor Romany girl.” 

“ You are my fair Cousin Isabel. Are you trysted here with 
Angus ?” 

“ Angus keeps other trysts, Laird Hector. The Romany 
girl is a fiower to be worn and then flung away for a fresher 
one.” 

“ You wrong Angus, Isabel. He loves none but you. He 
never loved any woman before you.” 

She listened gratefully, and kissed with a childlike earnest- 
ness the hand which Hector had given her. 

‘‘ Do not fret for no cause, little one,” he said, sadly ; “ there 
are sorrows enough before us all, I fear. Angus is full of cares, 
and may soon be in great danger. Do not send him away with 
a sore heart, Isabel. If you have had a quarrel, give him a kiss 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


83 


ere he go, lest you weep all your life afterward for not doing 
so.’’ 

Then he sent a pleasant message to Jasper and Carruple, and 
with a smile, the memory of which afterwards pierced her heart 
like a sword, he left her. For he thought if she was waiting 
for Angus the lovers would like to make their peace and their 
adieus alone. 

Still, he kept within sight of the mountain path, for he also 
wished to see Angus. Their conversation of the previous even- 
ing had left him in a very unsettled mood, and MacAllister 
himself had been unusually thoughtful and silent at the break- 
fast-table. He waited an hour, and then returned to the castle. 
There was still no sign of Angus’s appearance, and the table 
had been cleared. Had he gone again without a word of fare- 
well ? 

‘‘ Angus is late, father.” 

“ Early, you mean, son Hector. He left the castle at dawn.” 

“ Where has he gone ?” 

“ It will be better to ask no questions for a day or two. Hec- 
tor; but he has gone among friends, and he will be back with 
friends before long. You have a big plea to settle with your- 
self now, my son, and neither I nor any other must prejudice 
the cause. Judge for yourself; you will be Chief of MacAllis- 
ter some day not very far off. Look at all sides, and judge for 
yourself.” 

“ It would be an ill judgment that put us two apart, father. 
I am your son, and I am your domman. My sword is yours, 
my chief P’’ 

“ Then my blessing on you. Hector ! But go your ways 
now, and leave me alone, I have much to think on, and many 
things to put in order, for I may be going a longer journey 
than I set out for. But there is One above knows all things.” 

Then Hector remembered poor Isabel watching and waiting 
in the wood, and he went back to tell her that Angus had left 
the castle at dawn, and was probably far on the road to Storno- 
way by this time. The girl’s eyes filled with tears, and her 


84 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


pale, olive-tinted face flushed to the deepest scarlet. Then she 
rose silently, folded her plaid around her arms and bosom, and, 
with a haughty movement, would have passed Hector without 
a word. 

“ Isabel, I see you think I am deceiving you, but, upon the 
honor of a Highland gentleman, I tell you the truth.” 

“ Let me pass, MacAllister ! The honor of Highland gen- 
tlemen indeed ! Some other pledge would be better.” 

Hector let her pass without further effort to soothe or ex- 
plain what he judged to be only a lovers’ quarrel, for he had 
far more serious things for meditation than the fanciful wrongs 
of a love-sick girl. He scarcely thought of Isabel again after 
he noticed that she took the seaward road to Assynt Wood. 
It was a much longer walk, but then he thought, with a ready 
sympathy, “ She hopes to see the boat in which Angus is.” 

Isabel had no such hope ; she knew that if he sailed at dawn 
he was far over the Minch by that hour. Her object was a 
very different one. She had frequently seen Miss Cameron 
taking her morning ride with her father on the firm, yellow 
sands of the cool loch, and she wanted to feed her jealousy 
with a sight of the fair face so hateful to her. When she 
reached the sands no human thing was visible, and she mut- 
tered to herself, “ An evil day and a day of disappointments.” 

Then she removed her shoes and stockings, and, keeping 
just within the water-line, walked rapidly onward, the rippling 
waves constantly washing her finely-arched instep. As she 
neared Assynt she saw a boat waiting at the little jetty, and a 
party leaving the castle gates; there were two gentlemen and 
a lady. One of the gentlemen was Cameron, the lady was his 
daughter Grace, and the other gentleman was Angus. 

A few passionate words in the Romany tongue escaped her, 
and she stopped a moment as if uncertain whether to proceed 
or turn back. The indecision was but momentary. She went 
on rapidly, splashing the water in an idle, childish way to re- 
lieve the storm of anger within her. She had plenty of time 
to observe the party as they approached her — to see Grace’s 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


85 


flattering white robes and soft brown curls, and the almost 
caressing bend of Angus’s dark, handsome head towards her. 

By the time they met the girl’s soul had transfigured her 
face; it was in a blaze of splendid, scornful beauty. She lifted 
it with a proud consciousness to Angus, and said, mockingly, 
“ May your poor cousin read your fortune, laird ? It is an ill 
journey you take, and much ill to come of it.” 

‘‘ Go back to the tent, Isabel.” 

“ It is an ill journey you take, ill you leave behind you, and 
ill you go to meet !” 

‘‘ Isabel !” 

She cowered before the anger she had raised, for Angus left 
his companions and confronted her with a scorn which made 
hers childish and contemptible. His eyes were more than she 
could bear, her own fell before their blazing anger. He touched 
her almost contemptuously, and Isabel threw off the touch as 
if a serpent had stung her. 

“ Go back to the tent. Why will you meddle in what you 
cannot understand ? If you linger a moment or say a word I 
will never see you again. Can you not trust me ?” 

His face softened as he spoke, and a tender gleam stole into 
his eyes. Her wild, vivid beauty touched him keenly, and the 
dark, passionate girl had never been dearer to him than at that 
moment. But Isabel could see nothing but the look of aver- 
sion on Grace’s face, and the polite tolerance on that of Cam- 
eron. 

“ You are a traitor,” she said, in a low, fierce whisper. The 
wretched girl meant only that he had been a traitor to her and 
to her people, but Angus gave to her words a wider meaning. 
He turned on his heel with a look of the utmost scorn, and in 
a defiant voice said, “ Go, and do your worst. If I could fear 
you I should deserve to die.” Then he made haste to rejoin 
Cameron and Grace, who had walked slowly on towards the 
waiting boat. 

Isabel stood where he had left her for a moment, as if 
stunned ; then she fled like a hunted deer to the tents in As- 


86 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


synt Wood. Jasper and Carruple were lazily smoking their 
pipes. Borzlam lay on the grass gazing up into the trees, and 
her mother and grandmother sat within the shadow of the tent 
with folded hands. She slackened her pace as she approached 
the tents, walked into the midst of the group, and then told, 
in low and rapid words, the story of her wrong. 

The women said little, the men nothing at all, but they ex- 
changed looks that meant more than words could express. 
Isabel had thrown herself on the ground between her mother 
and grandmother, and lay sobbing, with her head on the lat- 
ter’s lap ; while the old gypsy continuously passed her long 
braids through her thin, yellow hands, as if she were using them 
as a charm. 

After long silence she rose and said, 

“ I am an old woman, and years have told me many things. 
The men who suffer their women to be shamed and wronged 
are accursed ! May they die before their time !” 

She sat down again, and no one answered her in words ; 
but, after another long pause, Carruple rose and laid his large, 
keen knife at her feet ; and Borzlam, with a low laugh, took 
from his pocket a piece of thin, strong cord, and placed it be- 
side Carruple’s knife. Then Jasper spoke. 

“It is fools who take their revenge in a hurry. It is fools 
who run into danger when there are others who will do their 
work for them. A woman in love is a woman who has lost 
her judgment. There is some mistake. This man and I have 
stood together in the face of death, and he never failed me. I 
say there is a mistake. If there is not, am I not of Isabel’s 
blood ? No one could strike deeper than I. But why should 
we do hangman’s duty ? He has done that against the man in 
London which will put his head over Carlisle Gate. If he has 
wronged Isabel I will sell him to his enemies ; so shall we have 
both gold and revenge.” 

But Borzlam laughed low and scornfully, and looked at the 
old woman. She answered his look with one as cruel as his 
own. The evil hearts understood each other. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 87 

And yet, dark as circumstances looked against Angus, he was 
not to blame. He had risen before light that morning, and, 
after a long conversation with his father, had gone at dawn to 
Ewen’s cottage, and eaten his breakfast with his foster-father, 
as he gave him manifold orders to fulfil. A boat had been or- 
dered to wait for him in a little bay half a mile south of As- 
synt ; but when he arrived there no boat was waiting. 

As he paced anxiously up and down the shore, Cameron' and 
his daughter rode slowly towards him. Cameron was going to 
pay his daily visit to his herring-fleet, and Grace, as was her 
custom, rode with him. Cameron, as we have seen, was easily 
attracted by personal beauty, and before they came within 
speaking distance of Angus he had exclaimed enthusiastically, 

“ What a splendid carriage ! What a flne form ! What a 
noble face ! If he is a stranger in — ” 

“ He is no stranger, father. I saw him yesterday. He is 
Laird Angus MacAllister.” 

Cameron looked pained and sorry, for a lack of good com- 
pany at Assynt was his great want. Ere, however, he could 
make any further remark, Angus was by his side, and, bonnet 
in hand, had introduced himself in such a charming fashion 
that Cameron had insisted on him coming up to Assynt, and 
waiting there the arrival of his boat. The temptation was 
every way too great to be resisted, and thus it happened that a 
mere act of courtesy became to Isabel the strongest conflrma- 
tion of her lover’s infidelity. 

Both in the gypsy camp and at Strathleven Castle the beauti- 
ful month of June passed anxiously and wearily away. The 
very air was full of rumors that no one could trace to authentic 
sources. It was whispered that “ the Men o’ Moidart ” were all 
in arms, and that the government had sent an extra regiment 
into that disloyal district. A day or two later it was confident- 
ly asserted that the red-coats had been cut to pieces near Loch 
Lochie by the Macdonalds of Keppoch. 

At Strathleven there was a restlessness and a note of prepara- 
tion which Hector found it too easy to understand. The laird 


88 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


went up and down among his men, and it was evident they 
were preparing for some martial enterprise. The sheep and 
cattle were left to themselves, and the MacAllisters were con- 
gregated in little camps all along the strath. The drone of the 
bagpipe and the rattle of steel blended with the shouts of men 
and the lilting songs of the women in the hay-fields and the 
crowded clachan. 

At length, one night in July, as Hector was moodily walking 
about his own room, he heard from courtyard and from strath 
a mighty shout. It flew along the valley, and was thrown back 
in ten thousand echoes from the surrounding hills. Descend- 
ing rapidly into the castle yard, he found there a scene of the 
wildest excitement. MacAllister stood in the centre of a crowd, 
with his bonnet lifted above his head, and pointing to the 
mountains and the far islands lying off the coast. A fiery 
light was rapidly encircling them, and as every fresh mountain- 
peak grew bright it was hailed with frantic cries of joy and 
wild clashing of arms. The two pipers were blowing as they 
had never blown before, the women were running hither and 
thither, most of them with their children lifted shoulder high. 
Some were sobbing, some laughing, some singing; thus all 
seemed to have lost control over themselves. 

Hector had no need to ask a question. As soon as they saw 
him standing by his father’s side the enthusiasm found an 
articulate cry. 

The king's come ! the king^s come r 

MacAllister looked doubtfully at his son, and a sudden silence 
fell on the clansmen near. Hector had not yet by word or deed 
publicly identified himself with the movement. But the sus- 
pense did not last a moment. Hector stepped proudly forward, 
threw up his bonnet, and shouted, “ all! God 
save the king /” 

The Rubicon was now passed, there was no longer any doubt 
or hesitation. It was King George or Prince Charles, and men 
espoused their favorite’s cause with a passion of which we can 
have no conception. Cameron had no objection to Jacobitism 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


89 


as a sentiment, but he hated it as a fact, the more so that his 
opinions had been adopted as the result of religious convictions, 
and were in direct conflict with those of the clan Cameron, who 
were devoted adherents of the house of Stuart. 

When he heard of the stand that the MacAllisters had taken 
he was greatly distressed, and he wrote to the laird and earnest- 
ly requested a friendly interview. MacAllister, in his joy and 
pride, could now afford to be magnanimous to “ the puir Whig 
laird,” and he bid him bring Miss Cameron and drink the grace- 
cup with him the next night, especially as their mutual friend, 
Andrew Fraser, would be at Strathleven. 

The invitation pleased him well. If Fraser would join him 
they might perhaps prevent MacAllister and his sons commit- 
ting any overt acts of rebellion against the house of Hanover ; 
and as for the shouting, that was no treason in a man’s own 
courtyard, while the warlike preparations might well be excused 
in a country where all loyal men would soon be called upon to 
defend their homes. 

Grace was particularly excited over the invitation ; she knew 
from Ewen that Angus would certainly be at home, and she 
had good news to tell him. Never had she dressed herself with 
such surpassing richness and taste, and in this she was not ac- 
tuated by womanly vanity half so much as by an enthusiastic 
feeling that she was doing honor to the cause she loved. 

Cameron noticed her rich toilet and her unusual excitement, 
but he attributed it to the pleasure she felt in meeting Hector 
again. As for himself, the visit, though he had solicited it, 
gave him great uneasiness. It might bring him under suspicion 
with the government, and it might end in a quarrel instead of 
a reconciliation. Still, Fraser was to be there, and he hoped 
much from the presence of the cautious lawyer. 

Fraser w^as at Strathleven when Cameron and his daughter 
arrived, and he met them at the gate. 

“ Gude-day, Camerons, or bad-day, I might as weel say it. I 
hope you hav na lost your five senses. Strathleven’s gane clean 
daft, laird and gilly, mither and bairn.” 


90 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


“ I am on the side I always was, Fraser.” 

“ A vera safe side,” answered the old lawyer, with an irre- 
pressible tinge of contempt. Then, turning quickly on Grace, 
he said, ‘‘ And you, my young lady ?” 

“ I have come to my senses — all of them, Mr. Fraser,” and 
she looked him steadily in the face with eyes that gleamed and 
sparkled like stars. 

“ Humph 1” he answered, gruffly, but nevertheless he looked 
admiringly at her, and added, You need na glower sae defiantly 
at me. Fm no the man to say a bonnie woman is wrang, nae 
matter what side she tak’s.” 

“Come awa, Fraser,” cried the laird, who was in exuberant 
spirits ; “ come awa. Ye aye had the fault o’ hanging round 
the ladies. Cameron, I’m mair than glad to see you. We’ll 
hae this night thegither if we ne’er hae anither.” 

The laird was in high good-humor to begin with, but the 
sight of Angus with Grace and their evident interest in each 
other’s society gave him a sort of triumph over Cameron that 
added a very keen relish to his satisfaction. Cameron also no- 
ticed, and that with some astonishment and anxiety, that Angus 
and Grace had wandered off together to the extreme edge of 
the castle wall, and that they leaned long over it in earnest 
conversation. He would have been more astonished if he had 
heard its tenor. 

“Glengarry will be there. The McLeans are sure. The 
Men o’ Moidart and Clanranald will rise to a claymore.” 

“ And the McLeods ?” 

“ Not so sure. But the men who don’t go will have little 
peace in their homes; their wives wdll make their hearthstones 
hotter than a battle-field. I met Grant the other day, and I 
asked him which king he was for.” 

“ ‘ I have not decided,’ he said, ‘ but I think Charles Stuart 
has little prospect of getting his crown back.’ ” 

“ What did you say ?” 

“That Prince Charles had more hope of his crown again 
than Grant of Grant had of getting back his dirk. His face 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


91 


grew black as midnight, but I courtesied and smiled and said, 
‘ It is in the belt of Angus MacAllister, you know. Will you 
make an expedition to recover it 

While they were laughing over this incident Hector joined 
them. Something in Grace’s manner to Angus had given him 
hope. She looked at Angus admiringly as a sister might look 
at a brother, but she shyly glanced at Hector. She chatted 
freely with Angus ; she blushed and answered in monosyllables 
if Hector spoke to her. And Hector liked her blushes and em- 
barrassments, and the short silences they shared together were 
sweeter and dearer than the gayest words she gave Angus. 

Cameron and Fraser came to the dinner-table very anxious. 
MacAllister had stubbornly refused to speak about political 
matters. But after dinner he suddenly changed his mind. 
Without a word to his sons and guests he went into the court 
and gave an order. Very soon there was the noise of gathering 
men, the clash of steel, and the stimulating music of the pipes. 

Fraser became restless and excited. “Stop that noise, will 
ye, MacAllister? A man is na accountable for what he says 
and does when ye stir his blood up wi’ steel.” 

“ I’ll stop it if ye’ll come into the court with me, and I’ll 
show ye a sight that will mak’ you and Cameron fifty years 
younger.” 

They all followed the chief, Cameron somewhat protesting, 
but submitting himself to Fraser’s guidance. The soft, sweet 
July gloaming glorified the valley and the great hills, rising one 
above another till they touched the skies. The yard was full 
of Highlandmen armed at every point. There were eight hun- 
dred men, standing in ranks close and firm as a granite wall. 
MacAllister looked at them proudly, and, followed by Fraser, 
Cameron, Grace, and his sons, stood bareheaded in the centre 
of his clan. 

Cameron looked round uneasily, but Fraser whispered, “ We 
are fair trapped ; I would na try to win through this circle o’ 
steel for a’ the kings in Scotland, and they say there’s twa of 
them. Tak’ it easy, man.” 


92 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


Gentlemen,” said MacAllister, bowing to his guests and then 
to his clansmen, “ you hae asked me more often perhaps than 
was quite polite what side I am for. Listen, then, heaven and 
earth. I and my sons are for Prince Charles. Heart and 
hand, siller and land, and life itseP !” 

A shout that filled and thrilled the whole strath answered 
him. 

“ If any man among you is for King George, let him step out 
and lay down his arms. None shall blame him or do him harm. 
He is welcome to go to his shieling and his herding again.” 

No man moved. 

“The MacAllisters are all King Charles’s men, then?” 

“ Eh ! are we. Heart and hand, siller and land. Life itsel’.” 

Then Hector, stepping forward, said, “ MacAllisters, you have 
my pledge. I follow my king and my chief, my father and my 
clansmen. I draw my sword for the royal Stuart. Laird An- 
gus will tell you he is worthy of your faith.” 

And when Angus lifted his bonnet and came to the front 
there was a new and powerful emotion. Old men that had 
been but stern and earnest relaxed into smiles, and the younger 
were hardly restrained from breaking ranks and crowding round 
him. There was a magnetism about the youth that drew all 
hearts to him. 

“ Thee has seen ta prince !” shouted Ewen ; and Angus, tak- 
ing up the cry said, “ Yes, I have seen Prince Charles Stuart, 
and spoken with him. And through me Prince Charles trysts 
you to meet him on the nineteenth of August in the vale of 
Glenfinnin. Will you be there?” 

A great shout of assent was the answer, and before its echo 
had ceased Grace Cameron walked proudly forward. She 
raised her head, and then bent it east, west, north, and south. 

“ I am for Prince Charles,” she said, in clear, sweet tones that 
thrilled every heart. “He has no truer subject than Grace 
Cameron.” 

“ God bless you, lassie ? If Hector and Angus come home 
again, ye may lak’ your choice o’ them. MacAllisters! your 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


93 


homage. It is honor enough to bend to beauty and worth I” 
And the old chief lowered his bonnet till it touched Grace’s lit- 
tle shoe. 

“ I maun get out o’ this ; I maun get out o’ this,” said Fraser, 
restlessly. “ Miss Grace, ye hae done a vera foolish thing ; but I 
honor you. I mean it’s vera imprudent indeed. MacAllister, 
ye maun break your ranks. I’ll no be coerced into going for 
Charlie. It’s finable by law, MacAllister ; and me and my friend 
Cameron protest, as much as we are able, against these proceed- 
ings.” 

“ Ye are a very poor ‘ protestor,’ Andrew Fraser but Mac- 
Allister smiled, and, taking an arm of each of ‘his guests, he 
begged them to come back to the castle and spend an hour 
with him. “ It may be our last together in this world,” he 
said, solemnly ; ‘‘we’ll part friends, please God and you, gentle- 
men.” 

Cameron was greatly moved; deeper than all his prejudices, 
perhaps deeper than his convictions, lay that strong vein of 
sentiment and romance rarely wanting in a true Scotchman. 
He respected his daughter for daring so publicly to avow her 
sentiments. Her beauty and enthusiasm, touched by the air 
of chivalry and the soft glow of the summer evening, had given 
to her countenance a strange beauty. He had not been able to 
refuse her a glance which assured her of forgiveness, if not of 
approval. 

“ MacAllister,” said Fraser, fretfully, “ you are na fit coropany 
for sensible men. If I had na kept my senses ye wad hae had 
John Cameron as daft as yoursel’. I saw the light in his een. 
And whatna for should we fash our heads anent kings ? They 
dinna do it about us.” 

“ But you’ll have to choose one side or t’other, both of you. 
Choose to-night, Fraser.” 

“ I’ll do naught sae daftlike. I’m clear for being on the 
same side wi’ the hangman, sae I’ll wait and see what side he is 
to tak’, and then I’ll decide. Cameron can do as he likes, but 
if he’ll tak’ a wise man’s advice he’ll gang his ways out o’ tempta- 


94 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


tion. Strathleven is just the maist unhealthy place I ken o’ at 
the present time.” 

Cameron, smiling, rose, and offering his hand, said, “ MacAl- 
lister, kings did not make us friends and kings shall not part 
us. We may pull together in many a boat, though we don’t 
sail together in this one, and I must get Grace home. She fell 
completely under your spell, and nae wonder ; I cannot blame 
her. But I must take her home before she says words that may 
be set to my account hereafter.” 

He walked to the window and looked out. Grace stood in 
the centre of the MacAllisters, Hector and Angus by her side. 
The young men were rapidly cutting off knots of white ribbon, 
and Grace as rapidly pinning them on to the plaided warriors, 
who each in turn knelt before her. 

Cameron bit his lips and turned away. Fraser said, “ I dinna 
care. She’s a noble lass, and she’s right too — that is, I mean, she 
thinks she’s right. I wish I was forty years younger, I would 
mak’ her Mistress Andrew Fraser if I was the biggest chief in 
the North Countrie !” 

“ ’Deed in that case you would have had to do battle with me,” 
said MacAllister. “ I would-hae had her in those days, if I had 
taken a thousand men and carried her away. Cameron, if we 
never meet again, there’s my hand. He is a gude man that is 
father to a lassie like her. God bless her !” 

And few men ever went to rest so dissatisfied with them- 
selves for doing right as John Cameron did after that parting 
dinner at Strathlevem 


CHAPTER Yin. 

THE gypsy’s revenge. 

“Sweet is revenge — especially to women.” 

“ If we do meet again, why, we shall smile. 

If not, why, then this parting was well made.” 

Cameron’s dissatisfaction in the morning was of a different 
kind. He perceived that he had placed himself in a very sus- 
picious position, and the course which he knew to be the most 
prudent was one which he disliked exceedingly to take. To re- 
move himself and Grace from all communication with the rebels 
and to show himself in the company of those well affected to 
the House of Hanover was now his obvious duty, but he feared 
to leave his nearly completed industries to the mercy of lawless 
men, who would only be too glad of any pretext for plundering 
a stranger. Prudence urged him to leave for Edinburgh at once ; 
interest urged him to delay a while and see whether Prince 
Charles was really able to inaugurate a campaign. 

While he was walking anxiously about his garden, pondering 
these questions, on the following morning, he saw Fraser ap- 
proaching him, and no sight could at the time have been more 
welcome. 

“ Cameron,^’ said Fraser, shaking his head dolefully, “ we went 
a daftlike gait yestreen, sae I hae come to tak’ counsel wi’ 
you. Twa heads are better than ane, even if they be fools’ 
heads.” 

“ I was thinking I ought to leave for Edinburgh to-day — but 
here comes Grace. Now, Fraser, hold to what you know to be 
wise, and do not let her throw a glamour over your good 
sense.” 


96 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“Ow, ay! It tak’s mair than a woman to beguile Andrew 
Fraser. Gude-morning, Miss Grace. You are a sight for sair een 
and sair hearts too, I trow. If you grow any bonnier I’ll hae to 
tak’ an oath no to look at you.” 

“I am very suspicious of a lawyer’s flattery, Mr. Fraser. 
What do you want me to do — make promises, or sign papers, 
or go back to the house and leave you and father alone to plot 
treason against me ?” 

“ No, indeed. I was only going to ask you to go your ways 
peaceably to Edinburgh as fast as possible. It is na safe for 
decent folk to be north o’ Dunkeld thae days. I’m going to set 
mysel’ in the eyesight o’ the Lord President Forbes. I must 
stand right wi’ him.” 

“ Stand right in your own eyes and your own conscience, 
Mr. Fraser. If you do that you will get ready for a march to 
Glenfinnin. You are trysted there, as well as the rest of the 
Frasers.'*'^ 

“ Then, young lady. I’ll keep no such tryst. I hae far mair 
important affairs to attend to. Let me tell you, you laid your 
bonnie head down on the block yestreen. If Charlie^ fails — 
and fail he must — you’ll find yoursel’ atween four walls, and 
then I’ll hae the fleiching and pleaing to get you out.” 

“ Grace, we must forget the folly of last night, and you must 
leave at noon with me for Edinburgh.” 

“ Dear father, that is simply impossible. I am ill ; I have a 
dreadful headache, and how can I leave without attending to the 
house and my packing and the servants, besides a score of things 
in the village ?” And Grace, under the influence of a sudden 
and severe paroxysm of pain, was compelled to leave the room. 

“ Now, Fraser, what am I to do ?” 

“You’ll hae to go yoursel’ and leave her for a few days. She 
has made up her mind to hae brain fever or paralysis if it is 
necessary, and that auld Dr. McLeod is as big a Jacobite 


* Charlie is not a mere familiar form, but the Erse or Gaelic form of 
Charles. 


97 


THE -JLAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 

as hersel’. He’ll say whatever she bids him. Mak’ as gude 
terms as you can wi’ her. Eh ! but she’s a bonnie woman, and 
a bonnie woman must hae her way.” 

I thought it took more than a woman to beguile Andrew 
Fraser.” 

“ Hout, man ! I’m no beguiled. I ken just what the lassie 
is going to do, I ken just what she has been doing. She has 
some little affairs of her own to sort. You need na worry anent 
them. There is as much love as loyalty in them. That’s the 
way wi’ women-folk ; they aye mix their politics and their love- 
affairs together. Give her a few days ; she’ll be ready for Edin- 
burgh in a week at maist.” 

“ Then I shall have to come back for her, and the journey — ” 

“The journey is hard, and you would rather not; but when 
men hae gotten wornen-folk in their hames they hae to tak’ 
many a step they would rather riot. A’ things have their price, 
Cameron.” 

“ You think I ought to go to-day ?” 

“ Go at once. Yonder matter o’ last night will be carried by 
some bird o’ the air. I should na wonder if Duncan Forbes asks 
you a’ particulars as soon as he claps his een on you.” 

“ Then he will ask what I shall not tell. No one should force 
me to betray the friend whose bread I have broken.” 

“And they’ll find it hard wark to get evidence out o’ an 
auld lawyer like me. I’m no an observant man ; and I had 
drunk mair Farintosh than was prudent that night. I would na 
be a competent witness.- Maybe I’ll hae to tak’ an admonition fra’ 
the Kirk Session, but they are mercifu' ; ony way, they air mair 
mercifu’ than Quarter Sessions and the Duke o’ Cumberland.” 

So Cameron went alone to Edinburgh, it having been finally 
arranged that Fraser should wait for Grace. “ And I’ll stay 
maistly at Assynt,” he said confidentially to Cameron, “ sae you 
can keep a quiet mind. I’ll tak’ a look at what you hae been 
doing, and I’ll walk down among the McLeods and try to keep 
them at their herring-fishing. I think I ken the way to get 
round them.” 


7 


98 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ If you could only get round their wives you would do a 
better business. The McLeods are only half-hearted ‘ Charlie’s 
men.’ Their women buckle on every broadsword.” 

“ Ah, weel ! I was aye noted for my skill o’ women-folk. I’ll 
gang through the clachan ; they’ll no out-talk me ; nor buckle 
my broadsword on, I’se warrant.” 

“How stands MacAllister this morning?” 

“Just in the maist dangerous place he can find to stand on. 
He called me a ‘ puir bit Whig body ’ this morning ; and I’ll no 
tak’ that from onybody.” 

“ But you are a Whig.” 

“ Ay, and I’m a sinner, a meeserable sinner likewise — but I 
dinna let folks call me names.” 

“ What excuse has he for rising ? George was a lenient mas- 
ter to the MacAllisters. Their fine was not a heavy one, and 
they have been ‘ out ’ in every rising.” 

“ They dinna acknowledge King George’s right to fine them 
a bawbee, sir. MacAllister said to me this vera morning, 
‘ Fraser, we Highland gentlemen can stand cold, hunger, thirst, 
pain, poverty, anything but a master. We’ll hae nae little 
German cock-laird telling us what we shall do and what we 
shall not do. Charles Stuart is our clansman and our born 
chief, the lawfu’ head o’ our clans ; and we’ll obey him. Next 
thing to having our ain way is to die fighting for it.’ ” 

“ The MacAllisters are an old and honorable family.” 

“The auldest and the maist honorable in the world accord- 
ing to themselves, Cameron, and that is what troubles me. I 
begged Hector To tak’ nae active part in the rebellion, sae that 
he might ony way keep the land thegither and carry on the 
family.” 

“ But Hector would never do that ?” 

“ No, he just touched his sword and laid his hand in his father’s 
hand. Then auld MacAllister was that conceited and trium- 
phant and aggravating that I could na thole him ony langer; 
sae I cam’ my ways o’er here, and here I’ll stay till Miss Grace 
gets o’er her headache and has all her braws packed.” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


99 


Fortunately Grace’s headache did not terminate either in 
brain fever or paralysis. She was able to go through the vil- 
lage next day and quietly undo all that Fraser had effected with 
the women of the McLeods. There was not one of them that 
she could not move with her own enthusiasm, and many a 
stalwart McLeod dreaded more than the perils of the deep or 
the bloody battle-field his wife’s scornful looks, her contemptu- 
ous pitch of the fishing-nets, and her scathing words. 

Fraser hung on the outskirts of Strathleven, but he did not 
go up the mountain. He knew that Laird Angus was riding 
nearly night and day, and that he was constantly bringing in 
parties of men from the mountainous recesses of Ross and 
Caithness. The youth’s ardor, his beauty, and his martial spir- 
it drew men from the lonely valleys, from the depths of the 
Reay forest, and from the almost unknown hamlets on the low, 
sandy beach of Dornoch. 

Prince Charles had promised to meet the clans at Glenfinnin 
on the 19th August, and it was now drawing near that date. 
For several days Fraser had heard of parties going southward 
under their various leaders, and he was getting very impatient 
to leave a neighborhood so dangerous and so suspicious. 

“We maun win awa to-morrow. Miss Grace,” he said, posi- 
tively ; “ the country is full o’ Highlandmen, and when they 
are out for a fight they are out on a frolic, and I dinna care 
about being invited to join them.” 

“Very well,” said Grace, with a sigh; “the MacAllisters 
leave in two days ; we can have their escort a part of the way.” 

“ Not for a’ the gowd in Scotland ! Ye dinna trap an nuld 
fox like me that way, young lady. I’ll no march a step wi’ 
Charlie’s men, nor I’ll no let you do it, either.” 

“ Mr. Fraser, you are not talking to a Perth jury.” 

“ Miss Grace, forgive me. I’m losing my senses, I believe. 
I’m no used to women-folk; dinna get up beyond my humble 
acknowledgment. I’m your maist obedient servant, and I’ll do 
whatever you tell me to do ; only if it wad please you no to 
put my puir auld head in peril o’ the gallows.” 


100 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ Very well ; then we will go to-morrow. And what way 
we will go I shall decide when to-morrow comes. To-day we 
will visit Strathleven, and bid them all a God-speed on their 
journey. You are not afraid, are you?” 

“Me afraid! And what for, I wonder? I hae papers Mac- 
All ister must sign before he leaves, and I trust a Scots law- 
yer may gang anywhere wi’ a ‘ last will and testament ’ in his 
hand.” 

So Grace dressed herself with extreme care and beauty, and 
rode over to Strathleven. It was amusing to see how proud 
he was of her, how gallant and attentive to all her small pleas- 
ures an(J comforts. 

“ It’s a sail’ charge to hae a bonnie lassie on your heart night 
and day, Miss Grace,” he said ; “but it has its compensations; 
ni allow that.” 

“ Thank you. I wonder if Lord Hector is at home ?” 

“ Hearken 1 Is na that his voice ?” for just above them a 
strong, clear voice was singing, 

“ Come through the heather, around him gather, 

You’re a’ the welcomer early ; 

Around him ding with a’ your kin, 

For wha’ll be king but Charlie? 

Come through the heather, around him gather, 

Come Ronald, come Donald, and a’ thegither, 

And round him cling with a’ your kin — ” 

'''‘For whaUl he king hut Charlie P joined in Grace, with a 
passionate melody that brought Hector instantly into sight, 
and that greatly at his peril, for, waving his bonnet, he scram- 
bled down the steep mountain-side to meet them. 

They all went to Strathleven together. Hector walking be- 
side Grace’s pony, and Fraser following the young couple, and 
indulging himself with many a sarcastic, though good-humored, 
speech. MacAllister met them with great delight ; he loved 
Grace, and he had quite forgotten his quarrel with Fraser. But 
there was a solemnity and gravity about him which was natural 
and becoming in a chief, who was not only leaving — perhaps 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


101 


forever — his home, but who was also taking with him more 
than a thousand men to share the dangers of the enterprise. 

Fraser and the laird had much business to transact, and they 
remained together all day. Towards sunset Fraser sought out 
Grace and Hector. He found them leaning over the castle wall, 
watching the stir and listening to the music and calls of the 
camps in the valley. 

“ Bairns,” he said, tenderly, “ I maun stay wi’ my auld friend 
to-night. He has been saying many things to me that have 
broken up bygane sorrows, and I canna leave him ; and I 
would na leave him for a’ the men in Scotland, nor lasses either ; 
sae. Hector, you’ll convoy Miss Grace safely to Assynt. j maun 
stay wi’ MacAllister, and forbye I want to see Angus, and he’s 
no hame yet. But Ewen says he’ll be hame sure and certain, 
sae I’ll stay, and you maun be ready by daylight in the morn. 
Til be at Assynt for you. I wonder where Angus is ?” 

Ewen could have told him, but Ewen did not choose to do 
more than give a positive assurance of his young chief’s arri- 
val, for Ewen knew that Angus was with Isabel Gordon ; and 
though he would never have admitted that he disapproved of 
any lady Angus honored, he did seriously object to her in his 
own heart. “ Put there’s na need to say aught,” he thought ; 
“ many a lassie is loved tat is na wedded.” 

Angus had returned early in the evening, and had been told 
by Ewen of the visitor at Strathleven ; but though he wished 
to see Grace very much, he could not bear the thought of leav- 
ing Isabel, perhaps forever, with anger between them. He did 
not go to the tents, for he knew that Jasper and Carruple were 
away, and he had no desire to meet Borzlam, so he sent Ewen 
to bid Isabel meet him at the Maiden’s Well. 

The spot he selected pleased the poor girl very much. It 
was not a spot sacred, in his memory, to another woman, or he 
would not be waiting for her there. She dressed herself care- 
fully, and went, almost trembling, to meet him. For she knew 
that her beauty was dimmed with tears, anger, and neglect; 
and she had riot seen Angus since that morning on the sands, 


102 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


when she had called him a “ traitor,” and he had so sternly or- 
dered her out of his presence. 

She had even ceased to hope that he would see her again ; 
she knew that he was going to danger, and perhaps death, 
and what was a poor Romany girl to a man whose heart was 
fixed on high enterprises and matters of kings and crowns? 
So she had at last become outwardly passive, and her grand- 
mother had watched patiently this mood, feeling sure that one 
of despair and revenge would follow it. 

Neither did Isabel’s actions, after Ewen’s visit to their tent, 
deceive her. She knew from the light in the girl’s face, from 
her careful toilet and her long absence, that she had gone to 
meet Angus. With tottering steps she sought out Borzlam, 
who was grooming his favorite horse fifty yards away. 

“ My son, that outrageous, infamous Gorgio has sent for 
your cousin, and your cousin has gone to him. What is the 
use of words ? Has there not been enough already ?” 

“ Mother, there has been too many. It will be a dark night, 
and no time comes better.” 

“ You have a wise head. See your hand fail not.” 

Borzlam laughed low and wickedly. 

“ Take your sleep ; I dreamed of blood last night. Mother, 
I make my dreams come true.” 

She looked significantly at him. He put his hand to his 
throat, and then on his hip ; and, with a parting nod, she left 
him, and went and sat down in the tent door, with a patience 
that contemplated its reward. 

While this interview was going on, Isabel had neared the 
Maiden’s Well. Angus was sitting on the rock where he had 
sat with Grace, waiting for her. He had been thinking of the 
various ways in which Isabel angered him, and of what he 
should say to her about her peculiar faults. But when he lift- 
ed his eyes, and saw her pale, penitent face, he forgot all but 
his great love for her. He stood up, and cried “ Isabel !” and 
in a moment she was nestling in his arms, all faults forgiven 
and forgotten. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


103 


That night he spoke to her as he had never spoken before. 
He told her that, different as their stations were, she was the 
one woman on earth for him. Parted by an accident of birth, 
they were, all the same, twin souls, and no other love should 
ever divide his heart with her. Then he pointed out to her 
that, though her aunt had gone straight from the tent to the 
castle, times had greatly changed, and therefore, before he 
married her, she must prepare for her position. And Isabel, 
usually so proud and tenacious of all her Romany customs, 
agreed cheerfully to all he said, and promised whatevei he 
asked. 

Never had they been so happy together; and when Angus, 
ere they parted, put on her finger a splendid betrothal ring, Is- 
abel believed herself to be the most happy of women. Dur- 
ing this interview Angus had made her understand the risks 
of the enterprise in which he was engaged. 

I shall make you a countess, Isabel,” he said, “ or I shall 
fall upon the battle-field. If I die. Lord Hector will always be 
your protector and friend.” 

‘‘ Lord Hector !” she said, gently. “ Ah, how good and pa- 
tient he was with me that dreadful morning ! I shall never 
forget how sorrowful he was for me ; but if you die, my lord ! 
my love ! Isabel will never leave her tent again.” 

The interview — a very sweet and a very bitter one — was length- 
ened out as long as possible ; then Isabel went weeping to the 
tents, and Angus took the road to Assynt. He thought it pos- 
sible he might meet Fraser and Miss Cameron returning ; and, 
if so. Hector would doubtless be with them, and they could be 
companions home. But when he reached the seaside he saw 
no sign of any one, so he suddenly changed his mind, and 
turned towards Strathleven. 

It was then quite eight o’clock, and he met Hector and Grace 
at the foot of the mountain. Something in his own heart told 
him that it would be kindness to plead fatigue, and not return 
again, and he found that Grace and Hector accepted his apolo- 
gy very pleasantly. So he went up to the castle, and finding 


104 THE LAST OP THE MACALLISTERS. 

Fraser and his father shut up together, he sat down on the wall 
to dream of Isabel and the future. 

Hector and Grace had taken the seaward road to Assynt, 
and, in many a weary, painful hour afterwards, Hector remem- 
bered that witching ride upon the cool, hard sands. The waves 
made a scarcely audible murmur, and the soft, gray light was 
just sufficient for him to see the love-laden eyes drooping and 
flashing at his side. As they neared Assynt they slackened 
rein, and a great silence fell between them. Neither seemed 
able to break it ; they rode without a word through the scent- 
ed garden, dismounted, and passed together into Grace’s sitting- 
room. 

“ Farewell !” whispered Hector, as he stood holding her 
hands, and then he was conscious that a tear had dropped upon 
his own. He could no longer control himself; he gave voice 
to his heart, and, in words which came he knew not how or 
whence, he told the love which had so long possessed him. 
And then he knew^ that Grace was weeping at his side, and that 
he was kissing away her tears, and calling her by the dearest 
names. 

He had again to say “ Farewell,” but this time it w^as a 
“ farewell” so mingled with bliss and hope that he could rise 
above its sorrow — “ and we shall meet in Edinburgh within a 
month if all goes well,” he whispered. 

‘‘ All must go well,” she answered ; and then with a sudden 
movement turned away. “ For I will not watch him out of 
sight,” she thought ; “ ill-luck follows those who are watched 
out of sight, and they come back no more.” 

It was then quite dark, for the clouds hung heavy and near, 
and it was evident that a thunderstorm was at hand. But Hec- 
tor saw no clouds or coming storm ; to him all was light and 
joy; and he put his hand proudly and impatiently on his 
sword. 

“ For her sahe^"’ he thought ; and if there had been a linger- 
ing doubt in the young soldier’s heart about the justice of his 
cause, he forgot it in that hour. ‘‘ Oh, how beautiful she was ! 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


105 


How good ! How loving ! No man had ever been so happy ! 
He must tell Angus.” And then he remembered that he had 
yet a long ride to take. 

With the thought came a sudden chill, a terror, a nameless 
something that he had never felt before. .It was as if his own 
wraith had flown back to him, crying, Beware !” He looked 
involuntarily behind him, and saw a dark, crouching object. 
The next moment he was only sensible of a fierce, choking sen- 
sation, of being dragged from his horse, and of a sharp, fiery 
pain, which he knew instinctively was the lunge of a knife. 

At this very moment Angus, sitting on the castle wall, mus- 
ing on coming events, fancied he heard a wild, piteous voice 
cry, Angus ! Angus MacAllister It seemed to come 
from everywhere and from nowhere. It was no mortal voice; 
he never thought it was. It filled the dull, heavy air with its 
clamor and wail, but only Angus heard it. He shivered from 
head to foot, but he set his whole soul to listen. A strange 
fear came upon him, as of some impending disaster. Again 
he seemed to hear a low, sobbing, inarticulate cry, like the dy- 
ing effort of a soul struggling for life. Was it Hector that 
needed him ? 

In a moment Angus leaped to his feet and called Ewen. 
“Six men, fully armed, Ewen, are wanted. There is mischief 
abroad ; we must go to the help of Lord Hector.” 

They had scarcely reached the strath ere it began to thunder 
and rain as it only can do among the mountains, but Angus 
walked steadily on. He knew not where he was going, but, 
impelled by an overpowering instinct, went forward, and his 
men trusted him implicitly. The rain fell more heavily and 
the storm beat more wildly as they approached the sea. Sud- 
denly Angus’s quick ear detected a sound that he knew on the 
sands. 

“ Listen, Ewen ; what is that ?” 

“Tis hard to hear aught at all through ta hurly-purly, but 
hersel’ thinks it pe a horse.” 

“ It is ;” and the next moment a horse, half wild with terror, 


106 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


approached the party, and solicited their attention with an al- 
most human persuasion. 

“ It is Hector’s horse, Ewen ; and there is blood on his nose • 
I feel it. Oh, my brother ! my brother !” 

There was a deep, -fierce cry from the men, that seemed to 
be literally cut in twain by a shrill, sharp shriek that evidently 
came from some woman’s heart torn by agony and fear. Angus 
stood still. 

Another and another shriek, each louder and wilder than the 
other, and with the last a vivid flash of lightning that showed 
him a woman flying along the sands and almost upon their 
party. She saw them also, and cried out, ‘‘ Fly for the Mac- 
Allisters ; fly for your lives !” 

“ MacAllisters are here !” shouted Ewen, for Angus was 
stricken silent by the new horror that had forced itself upon 
him — the woman was Isabel ! 

‘‘ Oh, my lord !” she screamed, taking hold of Angus ; “oh, 
my Lord Hector! They have slain Angus! they have slain 
Angus ! He lies bleeding to death at the point below.” 

“Isabel, I am here.” 

“ Angus ! Angus ! But they said it was jou. Alas ! then 
it is Lord Hector, the kind, the good Lord Hector !” And she 
fell heavily against Angus. 

“ Isabel ! Isabel ! be brave for my sake. You must not faint 
now. You must show us where Hector lies. Haste! haste!” 

She took him by the hand, and even his mighty step could 
scarce keep pace with her. Ewen and the men followed as best 
they could, being guided by the shouts of Angus as he went on. 
In a few minutes they had reached the poor prostrate body, 
lying there on the wild, wet sands, beat upon by wind and 
rain, and almost within a yard of the advancing tide. 

Angus could not speak; his grief was unutterable and mixed 
with stormy thoughts of vengeance. Still, he remembered at 
once what must be done. “ Here is my plaid, Ewen ; carry 
Lord Hector in it. Oh, sorrow-woven plaid to be my brother’s 
bier!” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


107 


The men laid the young lord in the plaid, and so, as in a 
hammock, gently bore him home, making as they went a lament 
that mingled with the wild storm, and as they neared Strath- 
leven wailed .loud and shrill above it. MacAllister, sitting with 
Fraser, was the first to hear it. He was in the middle of a sen- 
tence, but he turned pale to the lips, and, almost running to a 
casement, flung it wide open. 

It is the coronach ! the coronach of the MacAllisters! Fra- 
ser^ it is a chief’’ s coronach F and then, in a fainting, deathlike 
whisper, Angus / Angus F 

Fraser too had started up, and now he went as tenderly to 
MacAllister as a woman could have done. “ MacAllister, it is 
the hand o’ God, and you’ll no shrink from under it. What- 
ever your sorrow is, come and meet it like a man that has a 
God to help him.” 

They went slowly out together, meeting as they did so the 
clansmen and women running into the great hall from every 
quarter, and there, on its wide hearthstone, lay Lord Hector — 
his first-born, his heir, his pride. 

A great groan went up from the chief, and Angus held him 
against his breast and tried to comfort him. Meanwhile a 
poor girl, with clothing torn and dripping, had knelt down be- 
side the body and was feeling with breathless eagerness the 
heart. “ He is not dead ! he is not dead !” she cried, and 
the next moment she had forced open his lips and poured 
into them a few drops from a vial she plucked from her 
breast. 

In another moment she was crying out for herbs and band- 
ages, and Angus was obeying her orders with a rapidity and 
confidence that inspired every one else. No surgeon could have 
stayed the bleeding or dressed the wound with more skill, and 
every one kept silence and watched her movements. Twice, 
thrice she repeated the drops she had at first given Hector, and 
at the third time he faintly sighed and moaned. 

“ He will live,” she said — “ he will live if you will suffer me 
to watch and nurse him then, falling at the feet of MacAllis- 


108 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


ter, she said, “ My lord, your grief is my grief. You know me ; 
do not send me away.” 

“ Poor Isabel. Stay, my daughter, and save Hector if you 
can. What say you, Angus?” 

“ Hector is safe with Isabel ; she and I will watch him to- 
gether to-night.” 

Then the hall was quietly cleared, and Angus and Isabel sat 
down by the unconscious man, while the chief and Fraser moved 
to the other end of the room. 

Angus then pointed to a deep, purple mark round Hector’s 
neck, and whispered “ Borzlam .^” 

“ Yes.” 

He set his lips, and, pointing to the wound in the side, said 
“ Carruple .^” 

“ No, Borzlam.” 

“ Why ?” 

He thought it was you.” 

“ I shall kill him, Isabel, even if it parts us.” 

“ It will bind us firmer. He ought to be killed.” 

“How do you know it was Borzlam ?” 

“ I heard him tell grandbebee. They tried to catch me, but 
I fled too fast. Borzlam will kill me too, now.” 

“You must stay here — till he is captured.” 

“ He has fled doubtless ; he knows that Jasper or Carruple 
would kill him.” 

“ I will tie him to a tree, and every MacAllister shall fling 
his dirk at him. That is our punishment for an assassin.” 

Towards morning the wounded man had a few moments of 
consciousness, and he used them to urge on the chief and An- 
gus no delay on account of his misfortune. “ Where is my 
sword ?” he asked. 

Angus put it in his hand. 

“Call Neil MacAllister.” 

A splendid-looking youth, armed at every point, entered, and 
bent on one knee beside his leader. 

“Neil?” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


109 


“ My chief ! My dear chief !” 

“Here is my sword. You will use it for me — a stainless 
sword. Kiss me, Neil.” 

“ My chief ! My chief !” 

But Hector had become again unconscious, and, though the 
march was delayed some hours, they were compelled to leave 
him without any more definite hope. Fraser promised to re- 
main, and Isabel could be relied on for all that skill and loving 
care could do. Her positive assurances of saving his life some- 
what comforted MacAllister and Angus, who had some knowl- 
edge of the medical skill of the Romany women, but over the 
rest of the clan there was a shadow that it was difficult to dis- 
perse. 

The men left about seven o’clock ; at eight the strath, which 
had been so busy, was silent and deserted, and the castle, that 
yesterday was running over with armed men, and noisy with 
all the tumult of military life, was now only tenanted by half a 
dozen old women, the dying laird, the g’ypsy girl, and the old 
lawyer. 

About this time, also, Fraser remembered Grace Cameron, 
and his promise to call foi’ her early. 

“ Now I’ll hae a pretty kettle o’ fish to boil,” he said, queru- 
lously ; “ she’ll be for coming here, and I’ll hae twa women 
quarrelling about the puir lad ; and John Cameron, he’ll be 
deaving me wi’ letters, and Duncan Forbes and thae Whig gen- 
try will be misdoubting me. Them that hae put on a white 
cockade and followed Charlie will hae a mail* comfortable time 
nor me. But I’se do my duty, and I aye had a vera command- 
ing way wi’ women-folk. They’ll hae to do what Andrew 
Fraser thinks they ought to do — ’deed will they ! That’s ane 
comfort.” 


CHAPTER IX. 

A prince’s success and a gypsy’s death. 

‘ ‘ He is come to ope 

• The purple testament of bleeding war.” 

“To every evil-doer comes the evil day.” 

Before Fraser could decide as to the course to be pursued 
with Miss Cameron, that young lady arrived at Strathleven. 
Ill news travels quick, and she had heard at daylight various 
rumors, some of which represented the young chief as actually 
dead. Fraser’s heart ached at the sight of her white, piteous 
face, but he met her with a pretended reproof : “ Why did you 
no wait at Assynt, Miss Grace? You kent I would come or 
send advices. This sorrowful house is na the place for you.” 

“Oh, Mr. Fraser, it is just where I ought to be. Is Hector 
dead ?' Tell me the truth.” 

“ I’ll never lee to a sad heart. Miss Grace. MacAllister is na 
dead, but he is little like to live.” 

Then Grace threw her arms around Fraser’s neck and wept. 
Her tears wetted the old man’s face, and he could not help 
soothing and comforting her almost as a mother might. 

“ Hush ! hush ! my bonnie wee woman ! There’s hope o’ 
him yet. He’s young and strong, and he’ll mak’ a hard fight for 
his life — and I think he’ll win ; I do, surely.” 

“ Fraser, dear Fraser, you must let me stay here and help you 
to take care of him. You must not say ‘No,’ for I am his 
promised wife.” 

“That is no way to win at me. Miss Grace. I had sorted 
you for Laird Angus, and I dinna approve o’ young leddies 
taking these solemn matters in their ain hands. It is na right.” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


Ill 


“ Oh, Fraser, I must stop ! I will not be sent away ; and I 
told Dr. McLeod to come. He will be here in half an hour, 
and—” 

“ He’ll no win in, not a single step. Laird Hector’s wounds 
hae been dressed, and that by ane that kens mair than a’ the 
doctors in the country.” 

“ Very well ; then we will send McLeod back again ; but you 
will not send me back ? Let me stay ; I will do all I can to 
make you comfortable. I can cook nice things, and keep the 
rooms tidy and still, and help you in a hundred ways. And 
you know how dearly I love you, and I’ll do everything you 
tell me, and — and — ” The rest was lost in tears and sobs, 
while Fraser for a few moments was compelled to support the 
trembling, weeping girl, who had thrown herself upon his neck. 

“ ’Deed you shall stay, my dear. Hector will be the better 
o’ your presence, and I’m no denying but what you will be an 
extraordinar’ comfort to me.” 

‘‘ I knew you would say so at last. How could you help it, 
when yourdieart is so good and tender? Is the doctor with 
Hector now ?” 

Fraser looked decidedly embarrassed. ‘‘ Ow, ay, the doctor 
is there, and likely to be there.” 

“Can I go in and see Hector? Say ‘Yes,’ Fraser. Go and 
ask him.” 

“Well, I will go and ask. Mind ! you will hae to do what- 
ever the doctor says ; but she’s a kindly lass.” 

“ What are you saying? Who is a kindly lass?” 

“ The lass that dressed the wound and is nursing him.” 

“Who is it?” 

“Just the gypsy girl, Isabel Gordon.” 

“ Fraser, it is shameful ! I will not have her nursing Hector, 
and I won’t stay under the same roof with her.” 

“There is no call for you to do sae. Miss Cameron, nane at 
a’ ; but Isabel Gordon canna leave the laird ; and, what is mair, 
she should na leave him for a’ the fine leddies in Scotland.” 

“ How can she cure Hector’s wound ?” 


112 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“You maun set a gypsy to cure a gypsy wound. McLeod 
would let the lad slip through his fingers in four-and-twenty 
hours; Isabel will gie him every chance he has, and she’s no 
going to be meddled wi’, and I’ll tak’ care no one does meddle 
wi’ her. Sae put on your bonnet, my bonnie young leddy, and 
gae back to Assynt. You’ll hae the best o’ society there, nae 
doot.” 

“Please, Fraser; please, Fraser, let me stay! I will say no 
word to the gypsy, bad or good.” 

“’Deed, if you stay, you’ll hae to treat her like a leddy 
should do.” 

“I will do so; I will indeed.” 

“ And you must speak kindly to her.” 

“ I will do so, Fraser.” 

“ And whatever she says is to be done.” 

“ Certainly.” 

“ She is mistress and maister too in the sick-room. If she 
says you are to leave it, or that you must na speak, or the like 
o’ that, she maun be obeyed instanter.”» 

“ I will do whatever she says.” 

“And you’ll no quarrel with each ither?” 

“ I will not say an angry or disagreeable word.” 

“ But womenfolk hae a way o’ looking vera angry and disa- 
greeable things.” 

“ I won’t do it, Fraser. Try me for two days.” 

“Vera weel ; I’ll try you. Now gang awa to the room yon 
had when yon stayed here before, and wash the tears aff your 
bonnie face, and then you shall mak’ out my tea ; I’m needing 
a cup badly.” 

Grace went reluctantly up-stairs, but she judged that she had 
pressed Fraser quite far enough at that time. Her maid had 
already unpacked her clothing, opened up the room, and made 
some arrangements for her mistress’s comfort. She was, how- 
ever, full of complaints and gossip. “There was na a decent 
servant left in the castle; the best women had gane to the 
fields to gather in the hay, and the old erones wha had taken 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


113 


their place could do naething but croak about Charlie and Mar 
and Dundee.” 

“ Are there no young women here ?” - 

“ Only ane, and she wad be better awa ; a gypsy lass that 
cam rinning tlirough the storm like a madwoman, and went 
on about Laird Hector as if he — ” 

“ Hush ! Do not dare to name the girl in my presence.” 
And Grace remembered with scorn and anger the scene which 
she had witnessed between the girl and Angus. 

Fraser had watched her up-stairs with a smile of great satis- 
faction. “ It tak’s Andrew Fraser to manage a contrary woman,” 
he said, complacently ; “ it’s an unco pity I never got married 
mysel’ ; there wad hae been one woman properly guided ony 
way. Now I maun gae and speak yon little pagan fair, but 
she’ll be easy managed, nae doot.” 

He went into the hall, where Hector lay in a restless and 
feverish unconsciousness. Isabel sat on the floor by his side. 
She took no notice of Fraser’s entrance until he stood beside 
her, and then she only looked up and laid her hand upon her 
mouth ; but when she perceived that he wished to speak to her, 
she arose noiselessly and followed him out of the room. 

“ Isabel — Aliss Gordon, an’ it please you better — there is a 
young leddy here who, in some sort, has a right to be here, and 
she wants to see Laird Hector.” 

“ Miss Cameron ?” 

“Yes; Miss Cameron.” 

“ She cannot come in.” 

“ But I’m thinking she’ll insist on it.” 

“ I shall go away, then.” 

“You’ll do naething o’ the kind. Miss Gordon.” 

“ Y ou are right. I promised Angus to stay by him, and I will.” 

“ But, Miss Cameron ?” 

“She cannot come in here; I won’t have her; I won’t see 
her. Let me go, I am too long away now.” And Isabel si- 
lently but peremptorily closed the door on Fraser and went 
back to her watch. 


8 


114 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ Now what’ll I do ? I’d rather hae a jury o’ stubborn Moi- 
dart men to mak’ agree than twa women. That gypsy is a 
wilfu’ lass, and she’ll hae to hae her way ; the doctor is abune 
the lawyer in a matter o’ life and death.” 

As he stood musing on this and other matters Grace touched 
him. She had put on a pretty morning-dress, and her face was 
now calmer and tearless. “ Your tea is ready,” she said, caress- 
ingly ; ‘‘ the salmon is broiled to a turn, and I have made you 
an omelet with my own hands.” 

“You dear lassie! I’m wae to hae only ill news for you. 
Now, dinna faint; Hector’s nae worse; it’s the doctor that 
won’t hear tell o’ your seeing him, and we must hae nae quar- 
relling or disputing.” 

“ But surely you — ” 

“ I’m naebody in this matter. She as gude as ordered me 
out o’ the room. You’ll hae to beck and bow to the gypsy if 
you want your way. But you will ne’er do that.” 

“ Indeed I will.” 

“ She does na like you, that’s easy seen.” 

“I will make her like me. When you have finished your 
breakfast go and stay by Hector, and send her for a cup of 
tea; she must need it.” 

Fraser willingly did this, and Grace, concealed by the win- 
dow-curtain, saw the girl enter the room. She seemed to be 
utterly exhausted, and yet she filing herself face downward on 
the sofa in a passionate abandonment of grief that had some- 
thing terrible in it. 

Grace went slowly to her side. Such sorrow drove all meaner 
feelings before it. She forgot her jealousy and scorn, and only 
saw before her a woman — a child, rather — bowed to the ground 
in overwhelming anguish. Suddenly, moved by some tender 
and noble feeling, which she never questioned or reasoned with, 
she stooped down and kissed the small, olive -tinted hands 
clasped above the bowed head. Isabel turned her head instant- 
ly and, smothering her grief, tottered to her feet. 

Grace tried to take her hand, but she shook her head proudly. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


115 


“ We are sisters in sorrow ; do not turn away from me. You 
are weak and faint ; let me make you some tea.” 

Isabel did not seem to hear. In a kind of blind, dazed way 
she took a few steps towards the door and then reeled and fell. 
Grace made no outcry ; she called her own maid, and together 
they tended her until consciousness returned. 

“ I have been ill ?” 

“You fainted, Isabel. Do not move yet. I will bring you 
bread and wine, that is what you need. Nay, but you must 
take it — for Lord Hector’s sake.” 

She crumbled the bread into the wine and ate it greedily. 
“I was hungry, I had forgotten that. Now I can go.” 

Grace let her go without a word. She was sensible that she 
had made a greater impression on Isabel than the girl would at 
once admit. Three days afterwards she cama again into the 
parlor for some refreshment. Grace prepared the meal with 
her own hand, and then sat down to share it with her. Inad- 
vertently she had made the very advance Isabel could understand. 

“ We have broken bread together,” she said, slowly ; “ shall 
we be friends ?” 

Grace rose and kissed her, saying, frankly, “ I should like it 
very much.” 

A little later, as she passed the door of the hall, Isabel called 
her softly. “ He is conscious, would you like to see him ?” 

“Oh, Isabel, it would make me so happy !” 

“Come.” 

In another moment Hector, lifting slowly and painfully his 
heavy eyelids, saw the face he loved best on earth bending over 
him. He could not speak, but he drank in life and light from 
the dear eyes looking into his. That night Grace and Isabel 
shared the watch together. 

“ It is a great comfort to me,” said Fraser, when he heard of 
the reconciliation ; “ for I may say I hae been living o’er a bar- 
rel o’ gunpowder. Women hae a.wonderfu’ way o’ behaving 
in my presence. If I had married, and brought up daughters, 
they wad hae been greatly sought after,” 


116 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


But, in spite of the reconciliation, time passed very uneasily 
to Fraser. Lord Hector’s condition was still one of the most 
imminent danger ; any moment some fatal change might take 
place; and he had heard nothing from MacAllister, though the 
chief had promised to send a trusty messenger back in a few 
days. 

In the meantime the whole country was in commotion. 
There was scarcely an hour in which the sound- of pipes did 
not give notice of the march of armed men through the strath 
or over the mountains ; and Grace had told him, “ with her 
head in the air,” as he said, that a goodly number of the 
McLeods, indignant at the supineness of their chief, had chosen 
a leader from among themselves, and gone to meet Prince 
Charles at Glenfinnin. 

But about two weeks after the departure of the Mac A1 listers, 
as Fraser was chafing himself into a fever, he was told that a 
‘‘gentleman” wished speech with him. The gentleman was 
a fine -looking Highlandman, with a brisk and hearty man- 
ner. 

“ Gude-day to ye, Maister Fraser. I’m glad to see ye.” 

“ Gude-day to you, sir, and if ye bring gude news, then I’m 
glad enough to see you, though I neither ken your face nor 
your name.” 

“ I am Andrew MacAllister, a near cousin o’ the chief’s — 
God bless him !” 

“ Ye hae a gude name, and dootless ye are worthy o’t. Now, 
what’s your news ?” 

“ First, ye maun tell me how Laird Hector is.” 

“ He is like to do weel, and he is weel cared for ; ye may 
tell MacAllister that. Now, where is the chief and his men ?” 

“ In Perth.” 

“I’m no for asking aught anent the rebellion, but I canna 
help you telling me if ye like to do sae, Andrew MacAllister. 
Folks maun talk over their toddy, ye ken. Ye left here on the 
nineteenth, did ye no ?” 

“ Earlier, lawyer. We were at Glenfinnin on the morning o’ 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


117 


the nineteenth. Ye should hae seen us coming down the brae 
in twa columns o’ three men abreast, and the pipes playing like 
they were mad wi’ joy. The Camerons were there before us, 
and the prince and his company.” 

“ I’m not asking, but I wonder what next.” 

“ The Marquis o’ Tullibardine flung out the royal flag to a 
glide Scotch wind ; a bonnie flag it was, a’ o’ red silk, but a 
space o’ white in the middle o’ it. What a storm o’ pipe mu- 
sic ! and what a cloud o’ skimmering bonnets ! and what a 
long, long shout there was! Oh, lawyer, ye ought to hae 
been there 1” 

“Tut, tut, man ! I might hae liked it, but there was nae 
‘ ought ’ in the question.” 

“Then cam’ the Macdonalds o’ Keppoch, and some o’ the 
McLeods, and the next day we began our march. At Lochaber 
we were met by the Stuarts o’ Appin and Ardshiel, and by 
Glengarry and Gordon, and small parties from the clachans on 
the road, and so we made for Corriearrack, where General Cope 
was waiting for us.” 

“ Did ye flght Cope ? I mean, I wonder if he stayed for a 
fight.” 

“ Cope run awa afore we come nigh him ; he thought it best 
to sleep in a whole skin and the man laughed so heartily that 
Fraser had to purse up his lips very tight in order to preserve 
a decent composure. 

“Then cam the Frasers.” 

“ Ou, ay, I kent they’d come 1” 

“And the Mclntoshes.” 

“ Every ane o’ them 1” 

“ And we went like a torrent down Badenoch and the Vale 
of Athole.” 

“ ’Twad be a grand sight 1” 

“ And at Ruthven we met Cluny McPherson. He had been 
out for George, but as soon as he saw the prince he left his red- 
coats and went back hame to raise his clan for Charlie. He 
could na help it; ye never saw a prettier man than the prince,” 


118 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS . 


“ I wonder now !” 

“ ’Deed he is. There’s nane can beat him either in running 
or wrestling or leaping, or even wi’ the broadsword. He sets 
the men’s hearts on fire wi’ his bravery, and the women’s wi’ 
his beauty.” 

‘‘ Cam ye by Athole ?” 

“Ay did we; and stayed twa days in the duke’s castle 
o’ Blair Athole. Lord Nairn cam’ up wi’ us there, and 
Nairn and Lochiel went to Dunkeld and proclaimed King 
Charles there. But eh, man ! You should hae seen us enter 
Perth !” 

“ Nonsense ! I daur say ye made but a poor figure.” 

“ Poor figure yoursel’. The prince wore a splendid suit o’ 
tartan trimmed wi’ gold, and the Duke o’ Perth, and 01 ip h ant 
o’ Cask, and handsome Lochiel, and the chief o’ the MacAllis- 
ters walked by his side wi’ their bonnets in their hands; and 
the Perth men a’ shouted, and the women cried wi’ joy, and the 
prince he bowed east and west, and looked like a king wha had 
come to his ain folks again.” 

“ Perth was always Stuart mad.” 

“ What for not? The Stuarts aye loved Perth. Were they 
not a’ crowned at the Palace o’ Scone? Now, Mr. Fraser, I 
maun awa ; the chief bid me haste, and my heart is na here, I 
trow.” 

“ Tak’ anither glass and go. Men are aye in a hurry to run 
into danger. Gie MacAllister my duty and my assurances, and 
tell him a’ things are like to do week And if you see Fraser o’ 
Achnacarry ye may gie him my respects, and say, if he is in 
need o’ a little matter o’ siller or gold, his good cousin Andrew 
will be glad .to let him hae it. Helping a kinsman is na aiding 
and abetting a rebellion, I hope. And I’ll no hae the Frasers 
go amang ither folk and want aught fitting for an aiild and 
honorable family. If that’s treason the lairds o’ session maun 
mak’ a bill o’ it.” 

Then the two men shook hands heartily, and Andrew Mac- 
Allister went down the mountain, singing — 


THJE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


119 


“Geordie sits in Charlie’s chair, 

Bonnie Laddie! Highland Laddie! 

Had I rny will he’d no sit there, 

Bonnie Laddie! Highland Laddie! 

Keep up your heart, for Charlie fight, 

Bonnie Laddie ! Highland Laddie ! 

Come what will, you’ve done what’s right, 

Bonnie Laddie! Highland Laddie!” 

/ The little news that Fraser had heard only made him eager 
for more ; he was as restless as a caged animal. “ Here I am, 
shut up by my ain kind heart in a rebel’s castle wi’ twa women 
and a wounded man,” he said, querulously, to Grace, “ and 
there’s plenty o’ men in Perth needing my gude counsel this 
day.” 

“ But if you are ‘ suspected ’ you know how to clear your- 
self.” 

I should hope I do. I dinna keep a’ my friends booked 
on the same side o’ the house. If George wins I hae the ear 
o’ Duncan Forbes, the best Whig that ever lived ; if Charlie 
wins I hae the heart o’ Macx\llister, the noblest Jacobite that 
e’er drew a sword from its scabbard. It is n a mysel’ I’m wor- 
rying for ; it’s ither folk, and I wish I kent what ither folk are 
up to.” 

But for another two weeks no reliable information reached 
them. Cameron, indeed, had sent several letters, but they re- 
ferred mainly to family affairs. He had been obliged to sub- 
mit to the separation from his daughter; several causes inde- 
pendent of Hector’s condition made it necessary. In the first 
place, a defection of a large number of the McLeods — now his 
tenantry — might be adduced against him, unless he remained 
in Edinburgh to support the government by his presence and 
means. In the second, it was unsafe for any lady to traverse 
the country ; Sir John Cope had gone north to meet the rebels, 
and the rebels were pouring into the south by a hundred dif- 
ferent roads to meet their prince. Again, Edinburgh was the 
hotbed of Jacobitism, and if Grace were there she would almost 
certainly do something to bring herself and him into trouble. 


120 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


It must be remembered that Lochaber, where the rebellion 
had formed, though only one hundred miles from Edinburgh, 
was really as little known to the Lowland Scotch and English 
as a part of the Russian empire. They were aware that in the 
Highlands of their country there dwelt, among wild mountains 
and broad lakes, tribes of men who lived each under the rule 
of their own chief ; who wore a peculiar dress, spoke an un- 
known language, and went armed even about their ordinary 
avocations. They had also occasionally seen little companies 
of them following the droves of black cattle which were the 
sole export of their country — gigantic men, plaided, bonneted, 
belted, and brogued — driving their bullocks with an air of great 
dignity and consequence. Yet very little indeed was known of 
them, and the communication between the Highlands and Low- 
lands was so uncertain and dangerous that even such a matter 
of importance as the landing of Prince Charles was for more 
than two weeks a subject of uncertainty. 

There was little wonder, then, that the lonely castle of Strath- 
leven heard so few echoes from the noisy, fighting world out- 
side its barrier of mountains, and that, with the exception of 
the news brought by Andrew MacAllister, nothing reliable was 
heard for nearly five weeks after the departure of the chief. 
By this time, however. Hector’s case was more hopeful. He 
was conscious, and Isabel had permitted him to be lifted from 
the fioor to a more comfortable bed. But his condition was 
still very precarious, and life was absolutely dependent on a 
care and watchfulness that never ceased. 

It must be admitted that it had been a month to try the 
most forbearing affection. Hector had hardly been able to 
understand, much less acknowledge, the tenderness lavished 
upon him. Fraser, in spite of his attempts at gallantry and 
self-control, had been very irritable and restless, and the friend- 
ship between Grace and Isabel was by no means a demonstra- 
tive one. The gypsy girl had no confidences to make, and 
often sat hour after hour so perfectly motionless by her pa- 
tient’s side that Grace felt her immobility a kind of torture. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


121 


But on the twenty-fifth of September men were seen ap- 
proaching the castle; Fraser went out to meet them, with a 
glad yet anxious heart. The leader had his arm in a sling, 
and he was only followed by two gillies, but it was evident 
that he was a gentleman ; and when he drew near the gates, 
Fraser knew him. 

“ Forres, I am glad to see you. What brings you here, man ? 
How’s a’ wi’ MacAllister ?” 

“All is well with them. How is Laird Hector?” 

“ Laird Hector is nae wor^e, and he’s some better; but what’s 
your news? — and what’s the matter wi’ you? Come awa in 
and rest yoursel’. I’m fain, fain to see you.” 

“ ’Deed, I got into a fight wi’ ane o’ them no-to-be-bided 
Crawfurds, and I hae gotten a sair wound. I’ll no hold a 
sword again for a week, and MacAllister told me, if I wad come 
and see you, there’s a lassie here would do mair than a’ the 
doctors in Edinburgh for me. Sae I came.” 

“ And glad am 1. Where is MacAllister ?” 

“ He’s whar he ought to be — wi’ the prince.” 

“ And whar is he^ man ?” 

“ In Edinburgh 

“ Dinna lee, for ony sake, Forres.” 

“ Prince Charles is in Holyrood Palace. My een hae seen 
that gude sight, if they never see any ither.” 

“Bide a wee, Forres; there’s a leddy here maun hear that 
news ;” and Fraser went with a most disloyal haste to Grace’s 
parlor. 

“ You’ll no heed my not chapping at your door. Miss Grace, 
for — Oh, Grace, my lass, what think ye ? Yonder young 
man is in Holyrood Palace !” 

“ Prince Charles ! Say it again, Fraser.” 

“ Nae need. He is there dootless. Now, dinna gang daft, 
and dinna deave me wi’ crying and laughing. Ye ken weel 
that I’m deid again the Stuarts.” But Grace had fiung her 
arms around his neck, and was kissing him for joy and exulta- 
tion. 


122 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLTSTERS. 


“ I must tell Hector ; I must, indeed I must !” 

“ I dinna think he has strength to put this and that the- 
gither, but you may try and with this permission Grace bent 
over the pale and apparently sleeping laird. 

‘‘ Hector, beloved,” she whispered, “ Prince Charles is in 
Holyrood.” 

A bright light leaped for a moment into the heavy eyes, and 
the white, haggard face flushed rosy red. There were a few 
words more of whispered joy, and then Isabel kindly, but per- 
emptorily, placed herself between them. Grace understood, 
and submitted cheerfully ; she was too happy to be offended ; 
and with a bright smile she was passing from the room when 
Isabel, white and tearful, arrested her. 

“ Have pity on me. What news have you ?” 

“God forgive me! How could I be so thoughtless? Good 
news, Isabel ! Prince Charles is in Edinburgh.” 

“ What care I for Prince Charles ? It is Angus ; my Angus 1” 

“He is well.” 

Grace spoke with a sudden coolness, and Isabel turned proud- 
ly away. An hour afterwards Grace met her, and was amazed 
at the change in the girl. Her face was alight, her eyes burned 
like stars, her lips were slightly parted, as if she were singing 
to her own soul, and she walked with a light, elastic grace that 
had more of joy in it than many a dance. For Isabel had seen 
Forres, had dressed his wound, and received a message and a 
token from Angus. 

Forres was likely to be detained a week, and as he was a 
young gentleman of some rank and educatio;], Fraser found 
his society a great relief to the tedium of his life, and it was 
with a keen sense of the blessing of good company that he 
mixed his toddy the night of Forres’s arrival, and sat down to 
talk “ o’er things.” 

He was just considering how best to get at all the facts of 
the rebels’ march to Edinburgh when Forres startled him by 
saying, “ You knew the man who intended to murder the young 
chief of MacAllister ?” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


123 


‘‘Yes, a gypsy, called Borzlam.” 

“ He has been killed.” 

“ Killed ! Wha by ?” 

“ The MacAllisters.” 

“ Tut ! tut ! they should hae left him for the hangman. I’m 
not pleased at Laird Angus for that.” 

“Laird Angus did not soil his dirk with him. The poor, 
pitiful scoundrel went to Edinburgh wi’ news that he meant to 
sell to George’s men. James MacGregor was there for our 
side, and he heard the whole story. They left the secretary’s 
office thegither, and Rob Roy’s son was na the man to lose sight 
or hold o’ sic a double traitor. He brought him safe to our 
camp, and he was condemned as a spy and a traitor. Then 
MacAllister stepped out and claimed the right o’ life and death 
o’er him, and he was given up to them whom he had sae deep- 
ly wronged.” 

“ MacAllister did not kill him, surely ?” 

“No. The meeserable creature crawled to Laird Angus’s 
feet, and begged like a slave for his life. Laird Angus spurned 
him awa wi’ scorn and loathing, and ordered him to be tied to 
a tree. ‘ Had you slain my brother in a fair fight,’ he said, 
‘ I would have drawn my own dirk and killed you like a 
man. Assassin ! traitor ! spy ! die an assassin’s death.’ With 
that he looked at Ewen, and Ewen flung the first dirk at 
him.” 

“ Did he say aught ?” 

“ I would rather not tell you what he said.” 

“ Ah, but you must. It would be an ill thing to say so 
much and no more. I ken something o’ these pagan creat- 
ures. They can face the inevitable if they hae to do it.” 

“ This Borzlam faced it with a storm of curses. 

“ ‘ Your 'prince shall he hunted like a fox and die like a. 
beast ! 

“ ‘ CVy the coronach for the last Chief of MacAllister ! 

“ '' I see a battle-field in which Highlandmen shall be trodden 
like clay ! 


124 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


, *‘^‘Fire shall go through Lochaher^ and widows shall sow a 
handful of corn P 

“ Laird Angus was sorely tempted to strike him silent, but 
he walked scornfully away, and the clashing o’ knives and the 
cries o’ the clansmen drowned his evil words. But it was a 
fearful sight ; I liked it not.” 

“ Nor do I like to hear tell o’ it. They should hae let the 
law and the hangman deal wi’ him. Honest men willna like 
to be stabbit in a fair battle-field wi’ such dirty dirks. There 
was mair harm than gude done.” 

“ Likely ; for the MacAllister wouldna camp near him, and 
they moved twa or three hundred yards awa, and left him 
where he died. And I happened to be captain of the watch 
that night, and I saw what I like not.” 

“ Maybe ye had a dream, man.” 

‘‘You’ll no affront me that way, Fraser. I dinna dream on 
watch. I saw an auld woman steal round our men, spread out 
her arms, and cry sorrow on them. I knew not the words she 
said, but they seemed to draw from north and south and east 
and west everything evil. I declare I ’most fancied I heard 
the dark air stirred by flapping wings, and felt them trailing 
on the ground beside me. Prince Charles will never win, I’m 
feared ; though he has a’ the right to win.” 

“ Yes, he has rights — as a lawyer I’ll allow that. But they 
hae lapsed, Forres. He is o’er late wi’ his plea ; and naebody 
can mak’ the mill grind with the water that is gane past it. 
He is just thirty years too late — that is as gude as forever.” 

“ And yet I canna think it. You should hae seen him when 
he entered Edinburgh. I’ll ne’er forget him riding down the 
Duke’s Walk to the palace. His bonnet o’ blue velvet was 
decked wi’ a band o’ gold lace and a white cockade, and o’er 
his tartan coat he wore St. Andrew’s star. Around him walked 
a band o’ auld Hielandmen — every ane o’ them had fought at 
Sheriff muir for his father — and they kept turning up their 
sunburned faces to him wi’ such love and reverence that I could 
look at naught else but them. You’ll no believe me, but it’s 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


125 


true as truth itsel’ — his vera boots 'wore wet and dimmed as he 
passed along, wi’ the kisses and tears of those who followed 
him.” 

‘‘ I’m glad I was na there.- I am that susceptible, Forres, I 
daur na trust mysel’ in bad — I mean, in dangerous company.” 

“ But for all that and all that, Fraser, I wish I had na seen 
that evil figure !” 

It was naught at a’ but Isabel’s grandmother. She went to 
steal awa Borzlam’s body, dootless. It wad be gane in the 
morning ?” 

“ Yes, it was gone. We were glad of it.” 

“ Nae doot. And as for any woman, good or bad, witch 
or saint, bringing ill where God has na spoken it, that’s impos- 
sible. God does na leave the issues o’ war, and life and death, 
to witches and auld gypsy wives. Put that in your pipe, Alex- 
ander Forres, and smoke it, then ye may gang to your bed 
and sleep easy.” 

But ere Fraser followed his own advice he looked in at Hec- 
tor quietly sleeping, while Isabel sat beside him, and Grace stood 
looking out of the window o’er the moonlit strath. He motioned 
to Isabel, and she came to him. 

“ Isabel ” — in a whisper — ‘‘ Borzlam is dead.’^ 

“ Did Angus kill him ?” 

“ No.” 

“ He should have done it.” 

“ He had small grace and he deserved none. Assassin and 
traitor both.” 

“Hush ! When the dead are spoken of they come to listen, 
and the vengeance of the dead is terrible.” 

“ Weel, weel, I’m no his judge. God be merciful to a’ his 
creatures! How is Hector?” 

“ He will live. He is sleeping himself back to life.” 

“ That will do to sleep on. Gude-night, little woman.” 


CHAPTER X. 


THE DEATH OF THE MACALLISTER. 

“A mocking king of snow.” 

“ Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail 
Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, 

Dispraise or blame, nothing but well and fair, 

And what may quiet us in a death so noble.” 

Cameron himself brought the news of the great rebel vic- 
tory at Preston. The battle had been fought on the 22d of 
September, but it was towards the end of the first week in 
October when Cameron reached Strathleven. The weary gen- 
tleman climbing the mountain road was a glad sight to all in 
the castle, and Fraser’s eyes were full of tears when he clasped 
Cameron’s hand at the great gate. 

Grace was very glad also, but her joy had at first an element 
of fear in it. Had the prince failed? And were there no 
longer two sides for men to take ? She feared to ask a direct 
question, and her father was really so much more interested in 
Lord Hector’s condition that he forgot to volunteer any infor- 
mation. 

“How is Lord Hector?” he asked, anxiously, as soon as he 
was alone with Fraser. 

“ He’s out o’ danger, I think ; mair by token that he has 
been worrying himsel’ and ither folk to-day anent his velvet 
suit and laces. He’s fretting, too, after his servant, Roy, who, 
he says, is the only ane in the country wha can sort his hair 
and tie his cravats. I think he would rather hae gien Prince 
Charles his sword than his valet.” 

“ It is a good sign, Fraser. For my part I like to see a man 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


127 


careful of his appearance ; it is a mark of respect to himself 
and other people also. Can I see him ?” 

Hector had been prepared for the visit and was anxiously 
awaiting it. Isabel had permitted him to be slightly raised on 
his pillows, but he had scarcely strength enough to lift his thin, 
white hand, and lay it in Cameron’s. 

“ MacAllister, my dear, dear lad, this is a sore sight,” and 
Cameron, who had really loved the handsome youth from the 
very first hour of their acquaintance, could not restrain his 
emotion. The tears rolled down his aged face and dropped 
upon the young laird’s hands ; and then Grace, for very sympa- 
thy, wept also, until Hector, with a look, drew her head down to 
his and kissed the tears away. 

“Cameron,” he whispered, “will you give me your daugh- 
ter?” and Cameron, for answer, put Grace’s hand in that of the 
suppliant, saying, as he did so, “ MacAllister, you shall be as my 
own son to me, only get well, and then we will talk more of 
the matter.” 

No one had noticed the gypsy girl. She stood in the win- 
dow, watching the meeting with a face that betrayed not the 
slightest interest in it, but she felt keenly the passive neglect 
with which Cameron had treated her. As he left the room 
she gently followed, and, touching him on the shoulder, she 
said, 

“ Have you seen Angus MacAllister lately ?” 

“ Laird Angus MacAllister, my good girl.” 

“I am none of your good girl, Maister Cameron, and if 
Angus MacAllister is laird o’ yours he is none of mine. He is 
my plighted husband. Is he well ? You might answer a civil 
question.” 

“ He is well, I believe.” 

He was greatly annoyed. The proud, passionate girl, in her 
outlandish dress, with the large golden hoops in her ears and 
the queer gold beads on her neck, roused in him a feeling of 
dislike. He had all a Scotsman’s pride in his family connec- 
tions, and he looked forward with no pleasure to the prospect 


128 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


of finding this strange woman the sister of his beautiful, high- 
bred daughter. 

The first remark he made to Fraser was on this subject, and 
he was still further annoyed to 'find that the wise old man in- 
clined to regard Angus’s choice as a very proper one. 

“ Ye canna judge a woman by her earrings and her beads, 
man ; and for the rest she is glide and bad, as a’ women, are ; 
as a rule they are about evenly mixed. Ye canna deny that 
she is bonnie enough to turn any lad’s heart inside out.” 

“ I really did not look at her.” 

“Then, man, you made a great mivstake. It is a kind o’ 
duty to admire such beauty as Isabel’s wherever you see it. 
You arena competent to judge the lass till you hae looked in 
her een and watched her ways — kindly, womanly ways — fu’ o’ 
grace and skill. I’ll own that she has a temper — a’ women 
worth, aught have tempers — but she has saved Laird Hector’s 
life, and that is what nae doctor in Scotland could have 
done.” 

“ I heard that from Forres, but I scarcely believed it.” 

“ Oh, man, if ye had heard ill o’ the lass, ye would have 
opened both your ears to it. Where there is a woman atween 
gude and ill report put her on the gude side, Cameron. Do it 
for your ain mother’s sake. Besides, it’s no likely all the gude 
women are in the Cameron family.” 

“ Well, well, Fraser, we have other things to talk of to-night. 
The rebels have won a wonderful victory at Falkirk, but I give 
little for it.” 

“ Is na it worth as much as if George’s red-coats had won 
it ?” 

“ No, I think it is not. The young man is not gaining ad- 
herents as fast as he ought to do, and he is surrounded by bad 
advisers and difficulties of all kinds. He has no more chance 
of final success than ever be had. If beauty and bravery and 
the matchless courage of his Highlanders could stand against 
the whole power of England, he would win ; but it is hopeless, 
hopeless !” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 129 

“ And he has won a fair battle, eh 

‘‘Yes, there is no doubt of it. I have talked with some 
who were present. They said he made a splendid figure on the 
battle-field. He was brave as brave could be ; and there is no 
kind of doubt that he is very handsome, even among the hand- 
some, stately chiefs surrounding him.’’ 

“And Cope is weel whipped?” 

“ Have you any spite at Cope that you should look so satis- 
fied at it? Cope understands the art of war, but what men 
ever bore such a downhill charge as the Hielandmen made at 
Falkirk? Fraser of Achnacarry told me they rushed on the 
royal army like a raging, roaring torrent. There was one dis- 
charge of their muskets, and then the lightning swords flashed 
out from the tartan cloud, and smote with irresistible fury all 
before them. The Camerons began the battle.” And, in spite 
of his loyalty, Cameron’s eyes filled, and he involuntarily drew 
himself up, with a proud smile. 

“ The Frasers would be on the right wing; they hae had the 
post of honor ever since Bannockburn.” 

“ The Frasers behaved splendidly.” 

“ That’s auld news ; they always behave splendidly on a battle- 
field. If the warld was only a battle - field, they would be 
among the saints^o’ the earth.” 

“ Young Donald Fraser, of Glensarg^ was killed leading on 
his men.” 

“ He owed me a thousand merks ; but I’m glad I let him 
hae them.” 

“ The magic yonder Charles Stuart exercises over these men is 
wonderful? When Fraser fell he raised himself on his elbow 
and cried to his men, ‘Charge ! every man o’ you ! And look 
ye, my lads, I’m not dead ! I shall see if any o’ you fails to 
do his duty !’ ” 

“ I’ll hear no more o’ it, Cameron. Puir Donald ! I wish I 
had made him tak’ ten thousand merks. He shall hae a 
monument, the best money can buy him, that shall he! Where 
is Charles Stuart now ?” 


9 


130 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLiSTERS. 


“ Holding his court in Holyrood Palace. Edinburgh has 
lost its heart and senses o’er him — the ladies in particular. 
President Forbes says he cannot get a man of sense to act with 
him, because to act against the Chevalier is to lose their mis- 
tresses or incense their wives.” 

“You hae seen Forbes, then?” 

“Yes; I got letters of protection from him for myself and 
you; but he counsels you to leave Strathleven at once. He 
will not be answerable for royal troops in the stronghold of 
such a rebel as MacAllister.” 

“ It’s a far cry to Strathleven, Cameron. When I hear o’ 
George’s men in Lochaber I’ll decide whether I’ll winter here or 
no. Folks should na count their chickens till they are hatched. 
Are you going to stay at Assynt?” 

“Yes; and I must have Grace with me.” 

On this point Cameron was positive ; neither tears nor en- 
treaties could prevail, and Grace was obliged to leave Hector 
entirely in Isabel’s care. She disliked to do so very much ; 
she was jealous of her influence, even while she acknowledged 
that she had no ground for such jealousy. But the girls had 
never thoroughly trusted each other, and Grace’s kindness had 
had, perhaps, an unavoidable flavor of patronage and condescen- 
sion, a feeling which Isabel intensely resented. 

“ Good-bye, Isabel. You must come to Assynt when Lord 
Hector is able to be moved there. I shall be glad to see 
you.” 

Isabel smiled faintly. “ I could not come as a guest, and I 
am the daughter of a race who serve not.” 

“ Do not be proud and misjudge me, Isabel. You will take 
care of Lord Hector ?” 

“ I should have done that if you had never come here. I 
shall do it all the same when you are gone.” 

But Grace fancied she was glad to have her go, and she 
turned her face homewards in a very reluctant mood. 

“Cameron ought to hae stayed here,” said Fraser, as he 
watched them down the mountain ; “ there’s nae fear o’ red- 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


131 


coats at Strathleven, but he^ll find out his mistake ere lang. 
That lass o’ his has left her heart here, and I would na gie a fig 
for her presence without it. Forbye, she always thought a 
gude deal o’ Andrew Fraser. Cameron should na set himsel’ 
up for everybody in the warld, it’s no to be looked for !” 

Fortunately, the winter was favorable, in so far that much 
less snow than usual fell, and the road between Assynt and 
Strathleven was generally open to travel. But it passed weari- 
ly enough away, and Fraser w'as often inclined to think that 
he had proved his love for MacAllister in a manner which 
dwarfed into insignificance all possible pecuniary obligations. 
However, Hector was getting well. During the latter part of 
December he was able to sit up an hour every day, and Isabel 
had promised that the return of spring would see him in the 
woods and on the sands again. 

During these winter months Isabel gained a very warm place 
in Fraser’s heart. He dearly loved his comforts, but he loved 
them doubly from a beautiful woman’s hands, and there w^as 
something in the almost Oriental submission of Isabel that 
greatly flattered him. In her own tents Isabel had seen women 
ever the proud and willing handmaids of the men connected 
with them, and Fraser was waited upon and watched with an 
attention which gave everything and demanded nothing in re- 
turn. He had no need to trouble himself to be amusing or 
polite ; Isabel would sit contentedly hour after hour in perfect 
silence, yet always ready to talk to him if he showed that he 
desired it. Her behavior, upon the whole, caused him to have 
a very high opinion of the Romany women, and he told Cam- 
eron “that if ever he married he would tak’ a look through 
their tents, for he’d seen no ither women sae likely to suit 
him.” 

The life of Strathleven and Assynt during this winter really 
centred at Strathleven, for at frequent intervals Cameron and 
Grace came there, and such visits often lasted for at least a week. 
Cameron and Fraser generally spent a large part of these days 
with a map of the two estates before them, and their talk w^as of 


132 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


sheep and herring-boats, and pounds, shillings, and pence. Grace, 
with some pretty piece of needlework in her hand, sat by Hec- 
tor’s side, and their talk was of themselves generally, though 
not iinfrequently they had political events to discuss which had 
interest enough to entirely engross their speech. 

For Cameron kept up a constant communication with Edin- 
burgh, and thus, however tardily, was made aware of the chief 
movements of both armies. The descent of Charles into Eng- 
land in October, his conquest of Carlisle, his vdctory at Falkirk, 
and most of the details in connection with these great events, 
were rejoiced over and discussed in various moods and ways by 
the four people whose interests were so bound up with them. 

Isabel took no part in these conversations. She listened in- 
tently at first, but when satisfied, from their general tone, that 
no ill news had been received of Angus, she remained wrapped 
up in her own thoughts and busy with her own employments. 
For into the girl’s life had come a motive noble and difficult 
enough to employ all her energies — a determination to make 
herself worthy of the youth who loved her so truly. 

She had opened her heart to Hector on this subject as soon 
as he was able to sit up and converse with her, and Hector had 
seconded her wish with all his power; so many an hour that 
would have been inexpressibly tedious to him had been greatly 
brightened by teaching Isabel. How she humbled her proud 
little heart to be corrected and even smiled at! What efforts 
she made, and what difficulties she conquered I But the task 
once undertaken was faithfully fulfilled; she was learning to 
read and write from Hector and Fraser, and she was learning 
also to assimilate her dress and manners to Grace Cameron’s, 
in a proportion which showed a great natural sense of beauty 
and fitness. 

Thus, amid doubts and hopes and continually conflicting re- 
ports the winter passed, and spring was in the straths again. In 
early April Hector was able to walk between Fraser and Cam- 
eron to the castle wall, and once more look over the beautiful 
hills and valleys, green in the first tender glory of spring. But 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


133 


all was painfully still ; the plaided men that had filled the 
clachan and the hills with noisy life were gone ; and in spite of 
the green turf and the cloudy haze of bluebells there was an 
air of desolation contrasting frightfully with Hector’s last re- 
membrance of the same scene — the courtyard and strath full 
of armed men, the clash of steel, the music of pipes, the jubi- 
lant authority of his noble old father, the gay, joyous chivalry 
of his beloved Angus. He turned away his head from the 
scene before him and went into the castle, feeling as if he had 
come back to life in another world. 

He began to observe now that Fraser and Cameron were 
unusually anxious, and that Grace’s eyes bore constant marks 
of weeping. He knew that Prince Charles had been compelled 
to retreat northward, and that the Duke of Cumberland was 
following him, with an army capable of overwhelming by its 
numbers the five or six thousand brave Highlanders whose de- 
votion had survived the battles and fatigues of a nine months’ 
arduous campaign. So the spring’s beauty and song seemed to 
Hector a mockery ; no one around him was in sympathy with 
it. Fraser and Cameron were silent, Grace irritable and uncer- 
tain, the old women in the kitchen full of dreams and portents, 
while the younger ones in the clachan were heavy with direful 
presentiments, and hung about the castle waiting and watching, 
for news in a way which unreasonably annoyed klector. Isa- 
bel’s manner also attracted his attention ; the book and work 
that had been her constant companion now lay untouched on 
her chair ; she wandered about restlessly, and her great, sorrow- 
ful, eager eyes had the look in them of one who watches for 
evil, and yet dreads and deprecates it. 

One evening, about the middle of April, Camerofi and Grace, 
accompanied by Fraser, were riding slowly between Strathleven 
and Assynt. Just as they reached the sea-shore Fraser noticed 
a man leave the sands and plunge into the underwood of Strath- 
leven Forest. Something about the man seemed familiar, and 
impressed him at once unpleasantly. “ He is either a bad man 
or a bad messenger,” he thought, “ and I have a great mind to 


134 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


go back to Strathleven.-’ Yet he rode on in uncertainty until 
he reached Assynt, and then a sudden determination seized 
him. “ Cameron,” he said, ‘‘ there is evil abroad, and it touches 
Strathleven. I know it. I must go back again.” 

“Then I will go back with you.” 

“No, you must not. You might see what you would hate to 
rnak’ mention o’. Folks that can keep ears and een shut thae 
days are the best kind o’ friends.” 

“ You surely don’t think — ” 

“ I’ll no tell my thoughts. Cameron, for the love o’ God, see 
no puir fellow that is fleeing for his life. It’s easier shuttin’ 
your een than tellin’ a lee. Oh, Cameron, we’re auld men — we 
maun be mercifu’ — we maun be mercifu’ !” 

“ Fraser, come what will. I’ll do what’s right.” 

“Ay, ay ! I ken that, John Cameron — but whiles, it is mair 
Christian -like no to be righteous overly much. Gang to your 
room, and your bed if need be, and neither see nor hear tell o’ 
anybody.” 

Then Fraser, half angrily, turned back to Strathleven, mut- 
tering, “I dinna think Cameron need be sae strict wi’ his ‘right.’ 
I’m an elder in the Kirk mysel’, and my conscience is as gude 
as ony ither Christian conscience, and yet — if — I should— week 
weel, there is nae need yet to bespeak a Kirk Session anent me 
— and, maybe. I’ll no be put in such a strait.” 

As he approached the castle gate he saw the same man again, 
but this time he knew him. 

“Jasper Gordon,” he cried, “I ken you, my man, sae just 
come out o’ hiding.” 

The man came forward instantly. “ I knew you also, Mais- 
ter Fraser, but you were with Cameron, and my news is not for 
Cameron.” 

“ Your news ! It is bad news, I see.” 

“ Bad as can be.” 

“ There has been a battle ?” 

“ A huge massacre, say.” 

“The prince? I mean, Charles Stuart?” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


135 


‘‘ Has fled. He is among these hills.” 

‘‘MacAllister?” 

He fell on the battle-fleld at the head of his clan. Some 
of them brought his body outside the line, and I took charge 
of it.” 

‘‘God bless you for that kindness, Jasper !” 

“I promised him. He fell before he knew that all was lost; 
he died with ‘ Prince Charles ’ upon his lips.” 

“ And all is lost ? Oh, Jasper, is this so ?” 

“ All is lost.” 

“ Where is Angus?” 

“ With the prince.” 

“ And MacAllister’s body ?” 

“It is in Ewen’s shieling. We brought it in our wagon. I 
thought of Laird Hector ; can he bear it ?” 

“ Pie maun buckle up his heart, and try to bear it. Oh, Mac- 
Allister! My friend! My friend! You maun come to your 
hame once mair. Oh, MacAllister, we should hae died thegith- 
er !” The old man was quite overcome, and Jasper kept si- 
lence till he recovered himself. Then he asked, 

“ Who is there to carry him hame ?” 

“ There is Ewen and Neil, and two or three others. The clan 
was maist cut to pieces, for when Angus saw his father fall, and 
heard the clan raise a cry of lament, he placed himself in their 
front and shouted, ‘ To-day for revenge^ to-morrow for tveeping^^ 
and so led them into the thick o’ the danger. It was a bloody 
charge, but those who escaped it will win back here again in a 
day or two.” 

Fraser made no answer, and the two men went down to the 
clachan. There was no light in Ewen’s shieling, and the clans- 
man sat on the low doorstep of his hut, slowly rocking himself 
to and fro, and moaning out in whispers a doleful coronach for 
his dead chief. 

“ Strike a light, Ewen.” 

He got up mechanically, never ceasing his moan, and lit a 
piece of pine-wood, which threw a smoky, fitful light through 


136 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


the dark room. MacAllister lay on a bed of fresh bracken, his 
plaid was folded round him, and his sword was in his hand. 
His long, white hair, dabbled with blood, hung round his large, 
noble face, and the smile of triumph with which he had fallen 
lingered yet upon his lips. 

Fraser knelt down beside him ; he kissed his hands, his lips, 
his brow. “ My friend ! My brother ! My love !” he cried, 
in a passion of grief ; “ for wha has Andrew Fraser ever loved 
but you?” Three or four Highlandmen rose silently from 
the dark corners of the hut and came and stood round their 
chief. 

“ He is our father ; we did our best to save him,” said Neil, 
softly. 

“We wad a’ hae died in his place,” sobbed out another. 

“ And thankfu’ for ta honor and pleasure.” 

“Lift him gently ; he must go to his hame once mair. He 
shall hae a decent burial, though the Duke o’ Cumberland was 
at the strath head. Neil, you are his nearest blood here ; spread 
your plaid for him.” 

Neil laid down his plaid, and the four clansmen lifted him 
as tenderly as a mother lifts her dead babe and laid him in it. 

“Go slowly, Neil, and cry no coronach as you go. Laird 
Hector must be told first. Jasper, gie me your hand ; you are 
a friend o’ mine from this hour for the kindness you hae shown 
that dear bit o’ clay.” 

“ I loved him too. I am only a poor ignorant Romany, but 
I loved him.” 

Then through the darkness the sad procession took its way 
to the home which the dead chief had left so full of life and 
hope. They went noiselessly into the great hall, and laid him 
down where nine months before they had laid down the 
wounded Hector. Fraser remembered it, and pictured again 
to himself the clansmen and women running in with frantic 
cries, the nine hundred brave, bonneted men who would any of 
them that night have gladly died to save their young chieftain. 
MacAllister, their father, their leader, lay there now, and the 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


137 


nine hundred were slain, wounded, and scattered ; only four 
stood weeping above him. For these men never thought of 
hiding their tears ; they had fought like heroes in battle, they 
wrung their bloody hands and wept like women above their 
dead. 

In the meantime Hector had learned his loss, and he now 
stood white and stern beside the chief and father he had so 
loved and honored. His feelings found no vent in words or 
weeping; he stood tearless and silent by his sorrow. Nay, 
when the women came into the hall with loud cries and lamen- 
tations, he seemed unable to endure them. He motioned every 
one away, and he and Fraser alone kept the watch. Isabel, in- 
deed, waited all through the long, sad hours outside the door, 
but she sat so motionless that no one suspected her presence 
until the gray dawn showed the slight, dark figure sitting with 
bowed head, listening. 

At that solemn hour Fraser said, softly, “ We must bury him 
ere the sun rise. I sent word to Cameron and Dominie Talisker 
last night.” 

“ Can we not wait a few hours ? What are left of the clan 
may arrive to-day.” 

“ We must run nae risks wi’ such precious dust. Would you 
like to see that brave head o’er Carlisle Gate ?” 

“God Almighty forbid ! Oh, Fraser, if there is this danger, 
why have we waited? We could have buried him at mid- 
night.” 

“ He has lived a good Christian, and he must hae a Christian 
burial. Talisker could na be here before dawn. Tak’ a mouth- 
fu’ o’ wine and bread, and then bid the men come in.” 

They took the bread and wine and ate it together over the 
dead chief. What memories gathered themselves round that 
solemn meal ! Both men wept bitterly, and were not ashamed 
of their tears. But the face of the dead was full of repose, 
and all its solemn curves were firm and sharp-cut, as if they 
were to endure for ages. 

When the men entered, Fraser looked upon their weary, sor- 


138 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


rowful faces, and pitied them. “ Mak’ no moan or cry,” he 
said, gently ; “ this is your last duty to MacAllister ; when it is 
done you can weep and rest.” Then with his own hands he 
folded the tartan round him, and laid his chief’s bonnet on his 
breast, saying, almost with a tone of triumph, “ Tak’ his sword, 
Laird Hector. MacAllister has won the last great battle !” 

The men had made a rude bier, and covered it with fresh 
pine and bracken, and on this simple bed they carried their 
chief to the little kirk in the strath. Hector was unable to go 
with them ; he walked to the^Teat gate, and there, with a loud 
and bitter cry, kissed his father for the last time. 

When they reached the kirk, Cameron, Grace, and Dominie 
Talisker were waiting, and a great crowd of women sat on the 
grass, weeping, and softly wailing the coronach. Then the plaid 
was lifted from the face, and all were allowed to take their last 
look. Suddenly a woman, white, and trembling with great 
age, tottered to the grave-side. Her presence turned the moan- 
ing sorrow of the women into an awestruck silence, for old 
Elsie had been long bedridden, and apparently indifferent, if 
not oblivious, to all earthly affairs. 

Fraser, indeed, had supposed her to be dead, and was for a 
moment confounded by her appearance. 

“ Stand aside !” she cried, authoritatively ; “ who has right 
here but me? Did na I nurse him on my heart? 0 hone a rie! 
0 hone a rie! I kiss thy lips again, babe of my breast! pride 
of my life! Would that I had died in thy place !” 

“ MacAllister’s foster-mother,” whispered Fraser to Grace. 

“ Good dame, come with me,” said the dominie, kindly. “ It 
will not be long until you see him again.” 

“ You have had your day, dominie, let me hae mine — I, that 
have na spoke in twelve years or mair,” and she lifted herself up, 
and spreading forth her hands, cried, 

“MacAllister is in the assembly of the good, 

Here is his tomb and his bed. 

It is from hence he went to death, 

From hence to the beginning of peace.” 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


139 


Then, turning her gleaming eyes on Fraser, she said, “ Go back 
to Strathleven, and say this to Lord Hector : 

“ ‘ Strive not against fate, 

When after Angus comes James, 

And after James comes John, 

And after Hector comes Hector, 

The MacAllister clan is gone.’ 

The prophecy is as auld as the clan. 0 hone a rie! that 
these auld een should live to see it come true ! Now you may 
tak’ me away ; when this sun sets I shall go to him who comes 
not back to me.” 

A kind of supernatural awe had fallen on every one; none 
had the will to interrupt her, and even when she had dis- 
appeared a strange inertness prevented for a minute the final 
act of love. The dominie roused himself first, and touched 
Fraser and Neil. They re-covered the face, lowered the body, 
and, with the aid of Cameron and Ewen, filled in the grave. In 
half an hour there was not a sound in the strath but the lowing 
of the cattle and the song of the skylarks. 

Cameron and Grace went back with Fraser to Strathleven. 
Hector, as Fraser expected, was much worse, and Cameron urged 
him to allow himself to be carried to Assynt. “There is no 
use hiding the facts from you, MacAllister,” he said ; “ English 
soldiers are scouring these glens with fire and sword. Fifty of 
your clan were butchered. in cold blood within fifteen miles of 
home yesterday, and your castle will not escape a visit. If they 
spare your life, you will undoubtedly be taken to Edinburgh 
for trial.” 

“ They shall na do it, Cameron. It is again the law.” 

“ My friend, the country is under military law.” 

“ And that’s worse than nane. It is the deil’s ain statute- 
book — a drum-head and a sword. You’d better gang. Hector ; 
Cameron is thick wi’ the vera warst o’ the Whigs, and his 
word will maybe save your head for you. I shall stay here; 
I hae been through this mill afore, and I ken the clapping o’ 
it.” 


140 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEBS. 


Hector, however, resolutely refused to leave Strathleven, and 
Cameron, after a hasty meal, went back alone to Assynt. 

“And I’ll not say but what I think MacAllister is right,” 
commented Fraser to Cameron, “for possession is nine tenths 
o’ the law — and, ’deed, I rayther think it is ten tenths o’ the 
law.” 

“‘You will stay with him, I suppose?” 

“You may be sure o’ it. Hector is now The MacAllister^ 
and I would think little o’ him if he run awa from his rights.” 


CHAPTER XT. 


A FAREWELL. 

'‘From Lochourn to Glenfinnan, the gray mountains ranging, 
Naught falls on the eye but the changed and the changing ; 

From the hut by the loch-side, the farm by the river, 

MacDonalds, MacAllisters pass — and forever.” 

“jffa til mi tulidh! Ha til mi tulidh! 

We return no more! We return no more!” 

Fraser’s first thought was of Isabel. He had noticed her at 
the grave-side, for after all had taken their last look at the old 
chief she had stood for a moment weeping above him and then 
silently disappeared. When he found her in the castle she was 
so completely changed that for a moment he hardly knew her. 
Her hair, which she had lately dressed as Grace had taught her, 
was now in gypsy fashion, and was ornamented with a band of 
Indian coins and bangles. She wore gray ribbed stockings of 
her own. knitting, heavy shoes, laced up the front, a short 
linsey petticoat, and a sleeveless bodice of black velvet. Im- 
mense gold hoops were in her ears, a quaint necklace of Hindoo 
workmanship round her throat, and broad silver bands clasped 
her arms round the wrists and above her elbows. 

Fraser looked at her a moment with both pleasure and sur- 
prise ; then he said, What for have ye put on that unchristian- 
like dress, Isabel? You maun go to Assynt without delay, and 
that is nae kind o’ visiting dress for a respectable family like 
John Cameron’s.” 

“ I have nothing to do with John Cameron. I like him not.” 

But Grace?” 

“I like her not either. Why. should we try to be friends? 
She IS a tame, sleek little house-cat ; I am a lioness of the desert. 
I am going to my own people.” 


142 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ But, Isabel, listen to reason ; the glens are full of English 
soldiers.” 

“Jasper is waiting for me, and he is well known to them. 
No one hurts a gypsy girl ; I shall be always welcome. Can I 
not dance, and sing, and fiddle, and tell fortunes? And who 
loves King George as I do ?” 

“ Ah, Isabel, that is not true !” 

“ It is true 1” she cried, vehemently. “ I hate Charles Stuart ! 
See what sorrow he has brought on this good, innocent family ! 
what woes on Scotland ! what tens of thousands have fallen by 
the sword, by the hangman, by hunger ! Before to-night’s sun 
sets this very clachan will perish amid flames and the blood of 
women and children ! Yes, I hate Charles Stuart ! I am not 
of those women who love the hand that strikes them.” 

He looked at her flashing eyes and impassioned attitude with 
a kind of fear. The girl at that moment seemed capable of 
any deed of peril or revenge. She lifted a broad black hat and 
a little cloak of fine scarlet cloth, and said, in a voice that sud- 
denly changed to pathos and tenderness, “ Let me kiss you 
once, you kind father. Let Isabel kiss you for all the good 
you have tried to do her.” And Fraser, with wet eyes, and a 
peculiar solemnity of manner, took the slight form in his arms 
and kissed her. 

“ Good-bye, Isabel ; good-bye, little lassie. I ken not whether 
we will ever meet again, but you hae taught me, too, many a 
gude lesson, child. Won’t you see the MacAllister before you 
go?” 

“ I am going to him.” She kissed Fraser once more, and 
then went into the great hall. Hector was walking slowly up 
and down, his face flushed, and his whole manner betraying the 
greatest in ental suffering. 

“ Sit down,” she said, authoritatively ; “ you will need all 
your strength; do not waste. a footstep. I am come to say 
farewell. Listen to me and try to decide calmly. Hawley’s 
dragoons will be here anon. Traser will be able to spare your 
life at first, but when Hawley has drunk enough some hour you 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


143 


may perish in a moment’s passion. Go with us to Edinburgh 
in disguise, and when there give yourself up to the civil au- 
thorities.” 

‘‘ I cannot do such a thing, Isabel. Do you not see that the 
blame of my escape would fall upon Fraser? I must submit 
myself to the fate of war and go as Hawley’s prisoner.” 

“ I will take Roderick and hide him in the wood. While 
Fraser is with Hawley to-night I will see that you escape, and 
have Roderick saddled and waiting.” 

“If you could do that^ Isabel !” 

“ If you wish it.” 

“ I do.” 

“Then it shall be done.” 

“ Isabel, if we meet no more — if we meet no more, dear sis- 
ter, you will take care of Angus ?” 

“ Ah, that is what I am sure to do ! I shall save him or die 
with him !” 

The young chief then kissed her a tender “ farewell.” One 
thought was in both their hearts — that it was probably their 
last meeting on earth. In a few minutes he saw her go through 
the courtyard, leading his favorite horse, and she turned at the 
gate and gave him a cheerful nod full of hope and intelligence. 

Fraser came in at the moment, and they walked out together, 
and leaned over the castle wall. The little clachan and the 
grassy strath lay in an indescribable peace and beauty ; the far- 
up song of the larks, and the lowing of the cattle in the misty 
corries, were the only sounds that mingled with the still, white 
dawn. The men had little heart to speak, and, indeed, there 
w^as little use in speculating when every alternative seemed ut- 
terly hopeless. 

“ When folks dinna ken which road to tak’, it’s best to stand 
still,” said Fraser, half to himself, and as if in answer to some 
mental dispute. 

Hector smiled faintly. “ The words echo my own thought, 
Fraser. I will wait^and see what comes.” 

Instantly, and as if by magic, the lonely strath was filled with 


144 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


horsemen galloping rapidly and steadily forward until there 
was an unbroken red line from one end to the other. Hector 
laid his hand on Fraser’s shoulder, and a great groan es- 
caped his white lips. Fraser lifted his eyes, and said sol- 
emnly, “ Into thy care, O God, we commend these helpless 
souls !” 

Before the words were ended, shrieks, shouts, and fiendish 
laughter drowned all other sounds, and in less than five minutes 
every shieling had been fired. It was with difficulty Fraser 
could then control Hector. He drew his broadsword, and — as 
men in such supreme moments do — forgot that he was but one 
man ; he desired only to face his foes, though they were a 
thousand. 

“You’ll go back inside,” said Fraser, peremptorily; “this is 
a battle in which one auld lawyer will be worth a’ the MacAl- 
listers. I ken Hawley, and he kens me. I’ll go raysel’ and see 
what can be done wi’ him.” 

As he went he met some weeping, horrified women who had 
escaped, coming up to the castle. He took from his pocket 
some money and gave it to them. 

“ There’s nae safety there, puir souls !” he said. “ Gae your 
ways through the forest till you reach the seaside, then gang as 
quick as possible to Assynt. Cameron will gie you shelter; 
and bid him come and help to save MacAllister. Rin awa now, 
as quick as may be.” 

When he reached the strath the work of destruction was 
complete ; every shieling was a blazing ruin. Ewen, Neil, and 
four other Highlandmen lay upon their swords before Ewen’s 
cottage ; they had evidently stood together determined to sell 
their lives as dearly as possible, and been shot down without 
even this poor satisfaction. As Fraser passed, some English 
soldiers lifted the men and threw them into the fire. 

“ Ye are gieing them an auld Roman burying,” he said, 
scornfully. “ Fling their swords after them — swords and dirks 
too — there’s nae heritors for them, I’m thinking.” 

One of the soldiers turned with an oath, and pointed his gun 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


145 


at Fraser. The old man put it calmly aside. ‘‘Ye hae drunk 
o’ this devil’s cup till ye hae lost your senses. I am Andrew 
Fraser, and if ye touch me you’ll hae to count your bill wi’ the 
hangman. Where is General Hawley ?” 

The fellow sullenly pointed out a man on a great gray horse, 
standing on a slight eminence overlooking the work of destruc- 
tion. Fraser walked steadily towards him. Hawley and he 
knew each other, perhaps too well. There had been borrowing 
and lending between them, and some processes of law to put 
things finally straight between borrower and lender. 

Fraser was uncertain how these memories would afiPect Haw- 
ley, and Hawley was pondering the conditions on which the 
borrowing could again be best effected. He was uncertain 
what side Fraser had taken in the rebellion. If he had gone 
with Prince Charles the way was clear and straight ; Fraser 
would have to buy, at his valuation, a safe passport to France ; 
but if he had retained his allegiance to King George, the road 
to the old lawyer’s pocket would be more difficult. 

“ Morning, general,” said Fraser, as calmly as if they were 
both on the planestones of Perth city. 

The general turned haughtily, but, pretending to recognize 
Fraser, said, “ Good-morning, Mr. Fraser. I hope I see a friend 
of his majesty’s.” 

“ You see a gude subject o’ King George — and a gude friend 
o’ General Hawley’s to command. I cam’ to ask you to Strath- 
leven — or maybe you’d prefer to go to Assynt, where there is 
every comfort o’ gude meat and wine, and gude company for- 
bye.” 

“ I am for Strathleven first. There is a rebel there whose 
case I must attend to before I seek my own comfort. Has 
Hector MacAllister fled ?” 

“ Not he ! What for should he flee from his ain hame?” 

“ To save his life. He has been in arms against the king.” 

“You are a’ wrang there, general. He was everything but 
killed before the rebellion began, and he has na touched sword 
nor gun for nine months. But, gude heavens, general ! Your 

lo" 


146 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


m^n are firing the barns and storehouses an,d killing the sheep 
and cattle ; the puir dumb beasts are na rebels, onyway !” 

“ I obey the duke’s orders. I am to kill the males of all 
rebel clans, and destroy everything that can support life.” 

“ Weel, I maun say, if I die for it, that an officer’s commis- 
sion in the duke’s army is vera like a butcher’s license.” 

“ Mr. Fraser, consider yourself under arrest. I really do not 
know why I should be talking with you at all. The Frasers 
have all been ‘ out,’ I believe. Is there any reason you should 
be exempted ?” 

Fraser took out the protection sent him by Duncan Forbes, 
and said, “ I think that will exempt me, general.” 

‘‘ Certainly, Mr. Fraser, I recognize the authority of that docu- 
ment. Excuse me if I have been uncivil. I will go with you 
to Strathleven and see MacAllister. But I confess that I shall 
oppose saving him, he comes of a rebellious stock. His brother 
is known to be with Charles Stuart, and he intended and wished 
to be out.” 

“But you canna punish a man for wishing to do wrang, 
general. If that was any law, civil or military, we would all 
hae to kill one anither. He was na out Whether he wished 
to be out or not is naebody’s business.” 

This position was disputed with some acrimony ; but one 
safe point had been touched ere they reached the castle. Haw- 
ley had insinuated that a fine might perhaps be accepted as in- 
demnity, and Fraser had remarked “that he had a liking for 
the lad, and would be willing to gie a few hundred pounds if 
he could be got awa to France till things were settled.” 

However, when Hawley entered the castle hall and saw Hec- 
tor, he took to the young man one of those sudden and unac- 
countable hatreds which defy all our analyzation, and prob- 
ably have their origin in something that this life gives no hint 
of. 

“ Give me your sword, sir !” were his first words. 

The haughty grace with which Hector complied with this 
command seemed to irritate him beyond all necessity. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


147 


“ Take ofi his sash and bind his arms behind him,” he said 
to a lieutenant. “ Let two men watch continually. Mr. Fraser, 
I will thank you to order some breakfast for me and my staff.” 

The order was more easily given than obeyed. The women 
had taken Hector’s advice and gone to Assynt. There was 
nothing to eat in Strathleven. This state of affairs did not 
improve Hawley’s temper, and at length he determined to go 
to Assynt with his prisoner. 

They met Cameron half-way ; he was greatly shocked to find 
Hector bound and a prisoner, but a look from Fraser made him 
understand that any attempt to interfere at present in the young- 
chief’s favor might be fatal to him. The journey was a very 
unpleasant one, but Hawley’s manner changed a little for the 
better when he found himself amid the elegances and comforts 
of Cameron’s home. Greatly to Fraser’s amazement, Grace ap- 
peared to welcome them. She had taken exceeding pains with 
her toilet, and met Hawley with a fascinating cordiality. Haw- 
ley felt its power at once ; he spoke with less noise and author- 
ity, and was altogether less offensive. 

, The dinner and wines were excellent, and the general seemed 
inclined to prolong their pleasures. John Cameron, at a hint 
from Fraser, had excused himself early in the evening, for, as 
the wine disappeared, the lawyer and the soldier were growing 
confidential, and even friendly. In fact, they were discussing 
the terms on which Hector would be allowed to return to Strath- 
leven as a non-combatant under bonds for good behavior. Not 
that Fraser trusted in the faith or honor of Hawley regarding 
any such agreement ; he simply hoped to insure Hector’s life 
until he could enter into recognized and lawful arrangements 
for the settlement of MacAllister’s position. 

In the meantime two women were considering the same 
question. Cameron had given Grace a large sum of money, 
without a word, but she knew that it was to be used for Hec- 
tor’s freedom. She managed to make Fraser understand that 
he must keep Hawley interested by any pretext; beyond this 
she was fairly at a loss what step to take. 


148 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


Hector, with his guard of eight men, was in the large kitchen 
of Assynt, and she ordered for this guard a sumptuous re- 
past and whiskey in abundance. “ I must fight evil with evil,” 
she thought. “ When men are drunk they forget their 
duty.” 

About eight o’clock she determined to go and see what the 
chances for Hector’s escape w^ere. Her heart sank as she neared 
the servants’ quarter and heard the tipsy shouts of laughter and 
the wild clapping of hands. She stood still to listen, though 
she felt sure that it would be impossible for her to enter the 
room. Then she heard a voice that amazed her — a wild, clear 
voice, singing a song that she knew could come from no one 
but Isabel. Something of curiosity and something of pique 
now mingled with her fear and anxiety. This girl was again 
between Hector and herself. She could not bear the uncer- 
tainty, and she opened the door, 

Isabel saw her in a moment, and by an almost imperceptible 
movement of the eyes asked her to come forward. Isabel was 
standing on a large table, singing, and dancing the Komalis, 
while a handsome g'ypsy youth sat on the floor, and accom- 
panied her movements with the tambourine. At her entrance 
the guard moved impatiently, but stood up to receive her. She 
made gracious inquiries as to their treatment, ordered more 
liquor and refreshments, and pretended to be much interested 
in their gypsy entertainers. 

While she was asking Isabel some questions relating to her 
dance, the youth with the tambourine rose, asked her gracefully 
for alms, and softly whispered, after his effusive thanks, “ Bring 
us a pair of scissors.” 

Bhe knew the voice ; she looked earnestly at the g’ypsy, and 
she knew him. It was Angus. One look between them was 
sufficient. Then she left the kitchen, managing as she did so 
to pass Hector and drop her fan at his feet ; and as she stooped 
for it to whisper a few words of love and hope. 

Grace went first among her women, and had a conversation 
with them, the result of which was that one by one they joined 


THE LAST OP THE MACALLISTEKS. 


149 


in the revelry, and in half an hour it was evident, from the 
sound of a fiddle and the stamping feet, that a general dance 
had succeeded to Isabel’s solo performance. Then Grace dressed 
herself in her maid’s simplest costume, snooded back her hair 
like a peasant girl, and in a moment of the wildest fun slipped 
in among the dancers. She passed Angus several times, how- 
ever, before she could find a safe opportunity to give him the 
scissors and the gold. 

When she did so, Angus whispered, “Tell him that Jasper 
holds his horse at the north gate. I will be here to help him 
at the proper hour. Bid him keep awake.” 

It was so long before she found any opportunity of approach: 
ing the prisoner with this message that only her great love for 
Hector could have nerved her to bear the ordeal. But at length 
Isabel and Angus took an ostentatious leave of the company ; 
they had perceived that the guards were no longer masters of 
their senses. They, indeed, took the precaution to examine 
Hector, who was apparently asleep on a pallet of bracken in a 
corner. Stupidly they turned him over, looked in his face, and 
tried his bonds ; and then, appointing two of their number for 
the first watch, the others fell at once into a deep unconscious- 
ness. 

Hector was painfully awake. He knew that Angus had been 
present ; he expected him to return every moment. Nor had 
he long to wait. In half an hour he stole into the kitchen, 
and, keeping in the darkest shadows, glided up behind Hector, 
set his hands free, and whispered, “ Come I” Just as they 
reached the door one of the watch moved in his drunken doze, 
and muttered something. 

“ Go on,” said Angus to Hector, “ I will speak to him. 
What are you dreaming about, my brother ?” 

“ Oh, is it you ?” 

“ It is me, my brother ; me, the gypsy boy.” 

“ I had a dream — a bad dream.” 

“ Lie down now. I will tell you what it means in the morn- 

ing.” 


150 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


In a moment or two the man had dropped heavily off to 
sleep again, and then Angus followed Hector to the north gate. 
Jasper held the horse, ready to start. Hector held Grace against 
his breast in a sad, heart-breaking embrace. 

‘‘ Haste, my brother, haste !” whispered Angus ; ‘‘ all our 
lives are in danger.” 

Then Grace and her maid turned silently away. Hector, 
stooping from his horse, took the hands of Angus and Jasper 
in one passionate grip, and the little company disappeared as if 
by magic. 

It was scarcely daylight when the noise and tumult in Assynt 
warned Grace that Hector’s flight had been discovered. Haw- 
ley was soon awake, and unsparing in his insolent accusations 
both of Fraser and Cameron, and he would have put both gen- 
tlemen under arrest if they had not been protected by President 
Forbes’s authority. Strangely enough, the real culprits wxTe 
never suspected ; and even when some one suggested the gyp- 
sies the captain of the guard indignantly refused to entertain 
the idea — “ he had himself put them out of the house and 
locked the door after them.” Of course he did not know that 
Margery had very gladly opened it again, in obedience to Grace’s 
commands. 

Hawley refused any further entertainment, mounted his com- 
pany in hot haste, and, in the hearing of Cameron and Fraser, 
said, 

‘‘My. men, it is the MacAllister you are to find, and when 
found, I want no prisoner. You understand me ?” 

Fortunately for Hector he had a horse very swift and power- 
ful, and almost as intelligent as a human being. The best and 
shortest way to Edinburgh was also well known to him, and 
as he approached the city he judged it most prudent to keep 
to the open road, and ride as if there was no necessity to avoid 
notice. He reached Leith in safety, but was so exceedingly 
exhausted that he determined to throw himself on the mercy 
and generosity of President Forbes. 

He rode straight to his house and asked for an interview. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


151 


That noble man, and best of Whigs, granted the request at 
once, though it must be acknowledged he was somewhat amazed 
when the fainting, handsome gentleman tottered towards him 
and said, “ I am Hector MacAllister ; I am fleeing for my life ! 
Do what you think best with me, president.” 

“Then, MacAllister, if you submit yourself to me, I think 
bed, and some meat and drink, best for you ; ” and with these 
words he led Hector away to a luxurious sleeping-room, and 
bid him be at perfect ease until he could decide what must be 
done. 

There was really little. to decide; the only plan promising 
peace or safety at the time was to escape from the country. 
Prince Charles was yet at large, and some of the nobles were 
still in arms in the extreme northern and western Highlands. 
Until the prince was secured there would be no mercy for his 
adherents, and the scaffolds and gibbets of the country were fin- 
ishing the bloody work begun at Culloden. 

“You must go to Holland, MacAllister,” said his preserver, 
“ until these unhappy days are over. I counsel you to avoid all 
intercourse with France, or the unhappy House of Stuart, and 
Andrew Fraser and John Cameron together will surely be able 
to finally save your name and estate.” 

Two weeks afterwards Cameron arrived in Edinburgh with 
his daughter, who was seriously ill. They were accompanied 
by Fraser, who was very restless and miserable ; but the whole 
party were rendered comparatively happy by a few casual re- 
marks of President Forbes. 

“You are still factor for the MacAllisters, I suppose, Fra- 
ser ?” 

“ I dinna ken whether there be any o’ them living,” said the 
old man, with a trembling voice. 

“ I heard of Hector MacAllister to-day ; he is in Amster- 
dam.” 

“ The Lord be thanked ! and may his blessing be on Duncan 
Forbes !” 

“ My friend, we will give God all the thanks.” 


152 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ Ay, ay ! we are all his subjects.” Then, quite unable to 
control himself longer, he said, “ I dinna care what comes o’ 
it, Forbes. I loved thae Mac A1 listers root and branch — father 
and sons — and I am fair broken-hearted about the ruin of such 
an auld, grand family.” 

“ Why should it be ruined ? Things will sort themselves 
soon. MacAllister has powerful friends ; he can pay a fine and 
keep his estate if he will only have the sense to lie low till the 
storm blows over. He will come to his own again, never 
fear !” 

‘‘ You think sae, Forbes?” 

I do.” 

Then Andrew Fraser will awa back to Strathleven and keep 
things thegither.” 

“ I think for humanity’s sake you ought to do that. The 
widows and children of the dead clansmen must be suffering 
for food and shelter. As the poor fellows themselves straggle 
back they will need some helper and adviser.” 

“ I will go, Forbes ; I will go at ance. If the question of 
MacAllister should come up when I am not about, ye’ll see and 
get the fine made as light as possible — it will hae to come out 
o’ my pocket in the meantime.” 

‘‘ I will do all I can to pleasure you, Fraser ; but you must 
mind that I am not the court, I am simply the president of the 
court.” 

So Fraser, after imparting the news of Hector’s safety to 
Cameron and Grace, prepared to go back to Strathleven. It 
was very welcome news to both of them, and Grace whispered, 
“Dear Mr. Fraser, you are the best of all doctors, and I will 
soon come and help you to put the castle of Strathleven in or- 
der for Hector’s return.” 

There seemed little prospect of this. In spite of the enor- 
mous sum set upon Prince Charlie’s head no one would betray 
him. Month after month passed, scores of the humbler classes 
had perished by the hangman, and great numbers of the no- 
blest heads in Scotland had been laid upon the headsman’s 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


153 


block, but neither for fear of death nor love of gold would they 
give up to his enemies the poor prince who had brought such 
desolation on the land he loved. 

However, with the hope held out by Forbes, Fraser returned 
to Strathleven and gathered together the poor remains of the 
once powerful sept. Fortunately it was summer weather, and 
a few bothies in the forest sheltered those who could not find 
shelter in the castle. Fish was plentiful in the lochs and game 
on the hills, and, with John Cameron’s aid, enough meal to last 
them many months was stored in one of the large rooms of the 
castle. 

In the following September it became known that Prince 
Charles, after incredible dangers and sufferings, had escaped 
with a number of gentlemen to France, and that they had been 
received by King Louis with an ovation. Both England and 
Scotland received the news with satisfaction. Even the most 
rabid Whigs were satiated with slaughter ; and there were hun- 
dreds of thousands who, though opposed to Prince Charles on 
political grounds, had yet a chivalrous admiration for his youth, 
valor, and sufferings, and also a sincere respect for the men 
who had served him with such passionate and unselfish devo- 
tion. 

In the full tide of this merciful reaction Fraser procured a 
hearing of the MacAllister case. In point of law there was 
nothing against Hector ; he had never been in the field for the 
Stuarts. But his father had forfeited the estate by dying in 
active rebellion on the field of Culloden. It required all the 
powerful influence that Fraser could bring to bear upon the 
Court of Sequestrations to save Strathleven for a family iden- 
tified with every “ rising ” for the exiled Stuarts. Finally, how- 
ever, Hector was allowed to return to his estate, on the condi- 
tion of paying a fine of £10,000, and giving bonds for his 
future loyalty in the sum of £100,000. 

It was a sad enough home-coming for him, although it was 
in the full glory of the northern summer. 

“But we’ll soon hae a’ as bonnie as Assynt,” said Fraser. 


154 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


“ I hae the plans ready, and in ten years, if you be carefu’ and 
thrifty, you’ll be the richest man in Sutherland.” 

Then Hector remembered with a pang how he had first dis- 
cussed these plans with Fraser, and how impatient he had then 
felt of a system which had since found a bloody though famous 
grave with the noblest hearts in Scotland. 

“ But I shall insist on the clan following your advice, Fra- 
ser,” he said, firmly ; “ it shall be good for them as well as for 
me.” 

Fraser looked at him sadly. 

“ Hector,” he said, “ you must hear the truth, and you must 
thole it bravely. The poorest MacAllister that ever wore 
brogues is as much laird o’ himsel’ now as you are. You’ll hae 
to hire such o’ them as choose to wark for you. Your father 
was the last chief o' MacAllister I" 

“ And what am I, then ?” 

“Just Maister MacAllister, that is a’. There have been twa 
or three acts passed since you left Scotland that will mak’ many 
a ane ask whether they are themsel’s or some ither body. In 
the first place, you’ll no be allowed to wear dirk or sword again. 
All Highlanders are to gie up their arms next month. You 
arena to speak Gaelic, nor wear a bit o’ tartan, nor don a kilt 
or philibeg mair. You’ll hae to stick to your French fashions 
and braidcloth now. If ye dinna, ye’ll be sent o’er the seas for 
seven years.” 

“ But these are outrages ?” 

“ Ay, ay ! but what can’t be cured must be endured ; and 
there’s worse to come. The next act abolished all heritable 
jurisdiction, and absolved every clansman from his allegiance. 
You are the law no longer to them. Ye daurna lay a finger 
now on the meanest gillie that tak’s his oatmeal from you. But 
dinna hang your head, man — you are MacAllister for a’ that, 
and you’ll wark, and save money, and folks wi’ money can buy 
aught they want — a dukedom, an’ they fancy it.” 

The loss of his power and family title was a great blow to 
Hector, but it was broken by some familiarity with English cus- 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


155 


toms, and by an education that had in some measure prepared 
him for the change. He had sense enough to accept graciously 
what he could not refuse, and to enter heart and soul into those 
plans for the improvement of his immense tracts of land which 
had already been projected by Cameron and Fraser. In these 
changes the rights of Angus frequently came up for discussion. 
It was known now that he was with Prince Charles in France, 
and actually in command of one of the regiments stationed at 
Dieppe, Boulogne, and Calais, which were impatiently awaiting 
the efforts of the Stuarts with the courts of France and Spain. 

‘‘But Charles will never raise another army, and they will 
hae to disband sooner or later, and by that time the Act o’ In- 
demnity will be passed, and Angus can come his ways hame 
again,” said Fraser. 

“ He shall have the Reay country,” said Hector, with ready 
generosity ; “ he always liked it.” 

“That is breaking your land in twa. Hector; the estate 
maun be kept thegither from Reay to Assynt — that and no less. 
We maun find some ither way for Angus. I’ll no hear tell o’ 
breaking the land.” 

On this subject Fraser could come to no settlement, but it 
was finally taken out of their hands and decided for them in a 
way that neither of them could have anticipated. 

One evening in the early part of December, 1 748, more than 
three years after the rebellion, Fraser was sitting before the blaz- 
ing fire in his own parlor at Dornoch. A small round table 
stood on the hearthrug, with a pretty tea-service on it, and a 
plate of toast stood browning on the broad steel fender. He 
had put on his slippers and old coat, and as he sat warming 
his toes before the fire he looked complacently at the cold 
meats and potted fish that were so comfortably arranged before 
him. 

“ I wonder now what is keeping Kirsty and the teapot ?” he 
said, impatiently ; and then he rose and went towards the par- 
lor door. He had probably some intention of hurrying Kirsty, 
but before he reached the door he reached the window, and his 


156 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


attention was arrested by the heavy flakes of snow darkening 
the whole horizon. 

“ Just in time. I wonder whether the sheep-faulds on the 
Reay Hills are flnished !” Full of this thought, he stood a mo- 
ment at the window, and as he did so a handsome carriage 
drove rapidly to his gate. The sight was so unusual in the lit- 
tle Highland town that he did not move until he saw descend 
from it a tall, military-looking man. The next moment he was 
at the open door, bareheaded, calling out joyfully, “ Angus ! 
Angus ! I ken it’s you. Come in, you dear lad !” 

“Oh, Fraser! but I am glad to see you! Go in out of the 
snow. Have you room for my wife ?” 

“ Bring her in. Bring her in. What are you keeping the puir 
thing in the storm for ?” And Fraser ran back and stirred up 
the fire and pulled the sofa beside it, and called up old Kirsty 
with a promptitude that almost sent the old woman into a fit. 

“ Oh, my bonnie woman, but you’re gladly welcome 1” he 
said, as he stooped and kissed the dark, handsome face lifted to 
his. “ Tak’ off your cloak, my dawtie,” and he began to undo 
the small gold clasps. 

“ Be careful, be careful, Mr. Fraser,” said Isabel ; and as 
Fraser threw off the velvet and fur wrap, there she stood blush- 
ing and smiling, with a lovely infant, fast asleep, clasped against 
her breast. 

% “ Take care, you must not wake him : it is little Andrew 
Fraser.” 

“ You don’t say so ! Oh, the bonnie bit bairn ! And it’s a 
lad bairn. And it’s my ain namesake 1 This is mair than I 
can bear. Let me hold him, lassie.” 

“ No, no 1 you might wake him, and then he would be very 
cross and angry. Get some pillows and put them on the sofa, 
and we will lay him down.” 

It was really a charming sight to watch the old man and the 
beautiful mother bending over the fine, sturdy little fellow, and 
Angus enjoyed it keenly. 

“ I dinna care much for bairns,” he said, with an air of apoh 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


157 


ogy, “ but your bairn, and my namesake, is a bairn out o’ the 
common.” And again he stooped and softly touched the 
dimpled hands, that seemed miracles of beauty to him. 

It was a wonderful evening; Fraser was never tired of ad- 
miring Isabel and the baby. She was greatly improved. 
Teachers, modistes, and good society had done much for her. 
She had been tenderly loved, and shielded from sun and storm, 
and her beauty bad acquired that milder grace and delicacy 
which imparted to it its crowning charm. It pleased Fraser 
to see that she was in no way spoiled. She retained all her 
pretty Oriental ways of silence and loving submission. To her 
Angus was evidently something greater and better than any 
mortal man. It was a grief to Fraser when she complained of 
weariness and lifted her baby to retire. He asked to be al- 
lowed to hold it in his arms a minute, and Isabel laid it against 
his breast. His eyes filled with tears, and he turned to Angus 
with a look of intense pleasure. 

“ Thank you, my dear lad,” he said, softly ; “ you hae gien 
me the height o’ pleasure.” 

When they were alone both remained silent a few minutes. 
Angus spoke first. 

“ So Hector is married ?” 

“ Ay is he. It is a good marriage, Angus. They loved each 
ither — and it’s a grand estate now.” 

“ They waited long.” 

“That was Cameron’s fault. He wasna for the marriage till 
the Act o’ Indemnity had passed. If it had been before, the 
court might hae got some plea for a bigger fine. Mac A1 lister 
wedded to John Cameron’s heiress would hae been too cheap 
at ten thousand pounds. There was nae use flinging awa guid 
gold; and they are pi’udent young things, and took the advice 
o’ them that kent the warld and its ways. But we had a grand 
wedding after the act, and John Cameron gied his daughter 
fifty thousand pounds down. There are wonderfu’ improve- 
ments going on. I am doubting, though, if you can get o’er 
the mountains till this snaw melts.” 


158 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


‘‘I must Our ship is at Leith; a week is all the time 1 
have.” 

“Your ship ! Now whaur are you going?” 

“ I am going to the Virginian colony. It is a grand coun- 
try, and there are plenty of Higlilandmen there who went after 
Killiecrankie and Sheriff muir. It is the place for born Arabs 
like Isabel and me.” 

“ Then Charles Stuart comes no more to Scotland.” 

“ No more ! Never again, Fraser. The treaty signed last 
October at Aix'la-Chapelle compelled Louis to put him out of 
France. Our regiments were disbanded, and the prince, brok- 
en-hearted, retired to Avignon.” 

“ And you love him yet, I see.” 

“ Love him ? I would die to serve him this hour. I did 
not leave him till he bid me do so. My prince ! my prince !” 
sobbed Angus, passionately. 

“ Hush, hush, Angus ; I canna bear it ; there are gude days 
coming yet to Scotland.” 

“ The Scotland of my father was good enough for me. I 
love Scotland, but I hate George, and when Scotland’s enemies 
make Scotland’s laws I cannot thole the shame of it. I must 
see Hector, and then I leave Scotland forever, unless — un- 
less—” 

“ Nay, nay, Angus. The Stuarts will never come back here 
as kings. They may ask now for puir Rob Roy’s coronach : 
‘ Ha til mi tuUdh ! We return no more /’ ” 

The next morning Angus started for Strathleven alone. Isa- 
bel was not so anxious to see Hector and Grace as to risk the 
mountain passage with her baby ; and Fraser was very eager 
for them to remain with him. Indeed, Angus himself was un- 
able to accomplish it, and after a desperate but abortive effort 
was obliged to return to Dornoch. However, there are conso- 
lations in all disappointments, and Angus comforted himself 
with the thought that he should at least carry with him into 
the West the memory of an unchanged Strathleven — “and of 
Hector too,” he added, mournfully. “ Hector must have 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


159 


changed, when all around him has changed. I would rather 
keep the memory of his face as I saw it that night he fled 
away from Assynt, when he stooped down from Roderick’s 
back and kissed me ‘ Farewell.’ ” 

The week passed all too swiftly for Fraser. It was, perhaps, 
the happiest week of his whole life. He gave up his entire 
time to Isabel and “ wee Andrew,” and he scarcely knew which 
of them he loved best. 

At last the day came for them to sail. It was a bright, cold 
day, and Fraser carried ‘‘ wee Andrew ” in his arms to the ship. 
The child had become very fond of him, and it was a pleasant 
sight to see how its baby ways lightened the grief of parting. 
He gave it to Isabel with a blessing, and then hurried away 
from the little outstretched arms. 

And in that moment, somehow, he thought of his old friend 
MacAllister, and of his tender love for his son Angus ; and, as 
old Scotchmen often do yet, he lifted his bonnet solemnly to 
the memory, and grasped Angus’s hand with an almost father- 
ly love and sorrow. 

“ Gude-bye, my dear, dear lad. I shall not die till you come 
back to me ; I shall wait for you. You will not disappoint me ; 
and you’ll bring up in a God-fearing way yon dear bairn, and 
you’ll be a gude husband to yon bonnie woman ; and when 
you reach Norfolk just call on Peter MacDonald & Company, 
tobacco merchants, and you’ll find that I have na forgotten you 
and with these words poor Fraser pulled his bonnet dourly 
over his brow, and with a sore heart turned away from the 
three faces he loved best on earth. 


CHAPTER XIL 

AFTER LONG YEARS. 

“ Make room for rest around me ! 

Till, in deep calms of space, my soul 
May right her nature.” 

Many assert that life to be the most happy which affords no 
material for record. After the three stormy years of the rebel- 
lion such a life had fallen to the lot of Andrew Fraser, and 
calm prosperity and success had been added to the blessing of 
a wonderfully green old age. 

It was twenty-seven years since he had parted from Angus, 
and he was still waiting for his return — waiting it now with a 
hope and impatience that was very trying to his aged heart, 
for he had written and asked Angus to come and see him once 
more, and he was anxiously looking for the answer to his let- 
ter. He had calculated the time carefully, he had made allow- 
ances for all likely detentions ; the letter was now due, and he 
was watching for it. 

A heavy snow was falling, and thd air was strangely still. 
He had walked restlessly all day between the fireplace and the 
window, but the early night settled down, and the postman 
was now hopeless. Kirsty came in with the tea-tray, and re- 
minded him, a little authoritatively, that “ he was an auld man 
now, and had nae business awa from the fireside on sic a 
stormy day.” 

He sat down with a sigh, and put his slippered feet upon the 
fender. There was an air of sadness and disappointment upon 
his face, as true and unaffected as that one often sees on the 
face of a little child, and Kirsty, with ready sympathy, set her- 
self to relieve it. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


161 


I just brought in twa cups,” she said, cheerily. “ There 
has been a stranger on the bars for three nights running, an’ 
the cat has been washing her face as if the king liimsel’ was 
coming. I’m maist sure you’ll be haeing company, deacon.” 

While she was speaking he had stood up, with head eagerly 
bent forward, and every sense strained to the utmost. 

“ I hear him coming, Kirsty ! Set wide the door, my 
woman.” 

“ ’Deed, deacon. I’ll do nae such thing — siccan a night as 
this.” 

“You’ll open the door, Kirsty ! Quick, woman, he’s chap- 
ping at it now. I’ll go mysel’.” 

And sure enough there was a loud and eager knocking and 
the stamping of snow-bound feet, and the next moment the 
cheery sounds of a voice that shook the old man’s soul to its 
deepest depth. 

“ Fraser ! Fraser ! how are you, dear old friend ?” 

“ Angus ! Angus ! I kent you’d come. I kent you’d bring 
your ain answer. Oh, my dear lad, I am willing to go now 
that my een hae seen you ance again. What are you standing 
there for, Kirsty ? Bring in the boiling water, and the best of 
a’ there is in the house.” 

“Why, Fraser! You scarcely look any older than when I 
left you.” 

“ But I feel aulder. I haena been o’er to Strathleven for twa 
years, Angus, and then I went in a carriage, and had to tak’ a 
rest or twa. I shall never go again o’er the bonnie hills ; it was 
my farewell visit to the castle. And I canna walk as I used to 
do, and I canna read and write much now ; but thank God I 
hae little need to do either much now, and yonder letter I wrote 
to you is dootless my last ane. But my wark is a’ done, and 
my house is in order, and now that you hae come my heart is 
quite satisfied. I’ll just hae to wait calmly now till I am dis- 
missed.” 

“How is Hector? I have heard little of him for many 
years.” 


11 


162 


THE LAST OP THE MACALLISTERS. 


‘‘ Did you not get a letter from him a few days after mine?” 

“ No ; I left within twenty-four hours after the receipt of 
yours. It would have been an ill thing to keep such love as 
yours waiting; and if I had never seen you again I should have 
found it hard to forgive myself.” 

“ That is like you, dear lad. Then you hae a deal to see and 
hear tell o’, but it is a’ gude. First you maun tell me o’ Isabel 
and yoursel’, and o’ a’ that belangs to you, for you were a mees- 
erable letter-writer, and I ken little anent your affairs. You 
hae built a new Strathleven. I made that much out. Whar 
is it ?” 

“ If there is a Paradise on earth it stands within it, Fraser. 
Blit it is not like the old Strathleven. It is only a big, white, 
rambling house, with deep verandas on every side, and every 
veranda is covered with vines of wonderful flowers or of great 
purple grapes. The humming-birds flit among the blossoms, 
and the swallows build under the eaves and chatter to the chil- 
dren who play beneath them. It has a lovely park full of great 
oaks and beeches, and the park slopes down to the corn and 
wheat and tobacco flelds. There are blue mountains behind 
and a grand river in front, and the endless w^oods and plains 
stretch away and away, hundreds of miles away.” 

“ Thank God ! And you are rich and happy ?” 

“ I am rich, and I am very happy.” 

‘‘ And Isabel. Bonnie woman, what o’ her ?” 

“ Isabel has borne me ten children, six braw sons and four 
lasses, almost as lovely as herself. And, Fraser, you will re- 
joice over this news — she has learned to pray with her children. 
No one can call her a pagan now, she was baptized more than 
twenty years ago.” 

“I thank God, Angus; wi’ my whole heart I thank him for 
this news. Now, about my wee Andrew ?” 

“He is a fine, stalwart fellow, a head taller than ever you 
were, Fraser, and very like my dear father. You heard of his 
marriage, I suppose ?” 

“Yes, yes; a French lassie, you said?” 


THE LAST OF. THE MACALLISTERS. 


168 


The daughter of a noble French Protestant emigrant, Lucia 
de Fontaine. She had no money.” 

“ Tut, tut ! she had birth and was of the right faith, and if 
she had beauty and virtue, that is as much as any man deserves. 
I approve o’ my Andrew no wedding money, it is just what I 
expected o’ a lad called after my honest name.” 

“My second son. Hector, married a little English girl, and 
pushed west to the Blue Ridge. Gavin is at home with his 
mother, he is managing for me in my absence. Isabel, our 
eldest daughter, is wed to young Francis Beaufort — the Beau- 
forts are a fine old family.” 

“ I ken that. I looked up the family when I heard tell o’ the 
marriage.” 

“ The others are at Isabel’s knees yet. She has been a noble 
wife to me, Fraser. We have been very happy.” 

“ And the land, man ? I hope you hae ta’en care to get 
plenty o’ land. Land is the main thing, Angus. Hae you done 
as I told you ?” 

“ There are forty thousand acres of the finest land in the 
world in the name of MacAllister. Every son of mine will have 
a fine estate ; there is space enough for children and children’s 
children to spread the name.” 

“If they’ll stick thegither, Angus; if they will only stick 
thegither! But they hae got a roving drop in their veins. 
Hector, you say, has gone west already ?” 

“He chose the farthest away land I owned as his portion. 
He has my own fancy to be by himself.” 

“ Weel, weel, for a’ that has come and gone, you hae had a 
grand fortune, Angus. You are satisfied ?” 

“ I am very happy. I did well to go to Virginia. When 
changes come it is best to take them in your own hand. I have 
always been glad that I did not see Strathleven before I left, for 
all these years I have had the blessing of the old memory. 
Now I shall lose that, for I must get over the hills somehow 
this time.” 

“ It will not be hard to get o’er the hills now. The earl has 


164 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


bad a fine road made, and there arc change-houses, and all con- 
veniences for travel. The eaiTs carriage was here a week syne ; 
had I kent you were coming I would bae detained it.” 

“Thank you, Fraser; but 1 like not to take favors from 
strangers. A good horse is all I need if the road is open. Who 
is this new earl ? When I left Scotland MacAllister was the 
greatest man in the MacAllister country.” 

“ I forgot, Angus, that you hadna received the advices from 
your brother ere you left Virginia. The Earl o' Reay and As- 
sy nt is Hector MacAllister! We hae got a' we looked for, An- 
gus. The MacAllister sits in the Plouse o' Lords now ! If your 
father could hae seen this day ” 

A dark frown had gathered on Angus’s brow. 

“ Who is MacAllister of MacAllister^ then?'* he asked. 

“ There is nae MacAllister now. Some say, Angus, that Reay 
was the auld name o’ the family. Anyhow, it is the new 
name, and when folks are seeking an earldom they canna stand 
on names. Hector has done weel, baith by himsel’ and by the 
estate. Why, Angus, you arena vexed at your brither’s windfa’, 
surely ?” 

“ What do you take me for, Fraser ? If Hector can be sat- 
isfied to accept titles from a usurper, that is his business. 
There is an old proverb about the receiver and the thief; but 
if George steals from Charles, why should not Hector take from 
George ? It is a private question of conscience. I would not 
take a dukedom from the House of Hanover. I would not live 
on the same continent with them. If there were ten thousand 
miles betw^een them and me, all that space would be full of anger 
and hatred between us. But listen. I have great news and 
grand news for you, and for every one who loves truth and 
freedom. There is going to be another rebellion against these 
little German tyrants, and this rebellion is sure to succeed — as 
sure to succeed, Fraser, as the sun is sure to rise to-morrow !” 

“ What ? Angus ! The Stuarts arena’ coming wi’ blood and 
fire and death again, I pray I” 

“ No ; but the colonies are going to rebel. We are going to 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


165 


kick George and his satraps over the ocean. We are going to 
be free men. We will have neither king nor kaiser to rob and 
drive ns. George the Third is going to lose a grander empire 
than the Stuarts ever dreamed of. There is not a Scot now 
getting ready to arm that does not remember George the Sec- 
ond and Butcher Cumberland. What they owe to the father 
they will pay to the son.” 

“ Angus, you let rebellion alone.” 

“ This is revolution, not rebellion. We are certain to get our 
independence ! I know it ! The ship I brought over laden 
with tobacco has gone to France. What for, Fraser? For 
arms and ammunition. I shall carry them back with me ; there 
are strong hands and brave hearts waiting for them.” 

“ Don’t do it, Angus. Don’t go near France.” 

‘‘I am going farther. Can you guess where? Oh, Fraser! 
can you guess where?” 

I darena think o’ it, Angus 1 Oh, my dear lad, why do it ?” 

“ Because he is poor and forsaken and sorrowful, and I have 
money for him, and love — ” 

“ But he 'is sair changed, if a’ that is said be true. He is 
broken and fallen, and even those that love him can have little 
sympathy for him.” 

“Then they never loved him. Who would not be broken- 
hearted and fallen ? Have not all his friends broken truth with 
him ? His brother has been a traitor to his cause ; his wife 
has wronged and deceived him. Hope, love, ambition — all 
slain 1 My poor prince 1 Who would not pity thee ?” 

“ Oh, Angus ! what a true heart is thine 1” 

“ Fraser, I sold my tobacco for £10,000, but the prince needs 
£12,000. You must add the £2000; I expect it of you. 
George may have your duty, but I know you love Charles. 
And he is in debt and care and sorrow 1 He is your lawful 
king, the chief of all the Frasers, as well as of the MacAllisters. 
You are a poor clansman if you know your chief to be in need 
and help him not.” 

Fraser listened with glistening eyes ; he had sat watching An- 


166 


THE LAST OF- THE MACALLISTERS. 


gus with the greatest interest and admiration, and when he 
ceased he rose quietly, went to his desk, and wrote out slowly 
a draft on his banker for £3000 ; “ That is £2000 for your 
asking, Angus, and £1000 just as a bit pleasure for myseP. 
And you may say to him that his puir clansman, Andrew Fraser, 
begged him no to lose a heavenly crown because he didna win 
again his earthly ane. Tell him that Scotsmen a’ look to him 
to carry his sorrowful cup wi’ a steady hand.” 

Then he gradually turned the conversation towards his own 
affairs. He told Angus that all he had, excepting his property 
in Dornoch, had been turned into gold and devised to his name- 
sake. “ As for this little estate,” he said, “ I hae long intended 
it for a bit charity o’ my ain fancy. I hae left it to bring up 
a dozen or mair mitherless girl-bairns. It will do well by a 
dozen now ; and if Dornoch grows as I calculate on it growing, 
the number can be increased.” 

“ Why girl-bairns, Fraser?” 

“ I thought o’ the girl-bairns, Angus, for twa reasons. First, 
plenty ither folk hae thought o’ the lads ; there are colleges 
mair than enough for them. Second, because the best and 
happiest hours o’ my life have been those in which I was wi’ 
some gude woman. For my mother’s sake, and for the memory 
o' Bessie and Isabel and Grace, I am a thankfu’ man, and I hae 
done this to show it.” 

The next day Angus took the road to Strathleven. The 
snow was over, and the skies clear and blue ; but his heart was 
unusually heavy. He was sensible of being out of time and 
tune with all around him, and he felt no elation in family hon- 
ors which not only came from a source he despised, but which, 
in a manner, obliterated the family name. 

On the way he found everything changed. Men who had 
fought at Culloden had bowed to the new dynasty, given up 
their tongue and dress, their sword and dirk, and gone to plough- 
ing and herding. Living in the country, what could they do 
but accept the inevitable? Angus acknowledged this, but he 
was almost glad to see that both men and women were silent. 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


167 


gloomy, and dissatisfied, and eager to hear him tell of the grand 
land beyond the sea, and the freedom and prosperity of their 
countrymen there. 

He approached Strathleven just after sunrise. The little 
clachan had become a very respectable village. Straight streets 
of stone cottages had replaced the picturesque but irregular 
shielings, and there was now an inn, at which he left his horse. 

“ New lairds and new customs,” he sighed ; “ in my father’s 
time the poorest MacAllister would have scorned to have taken 
pay for a lodging or a meal.” 

He knew the woman who brought him a glass of milk and 
some oaten cakes, but she had forgotten him, and he would not 
remind her how he had once stood up for her good name, and 
made Black Dugald of Assynt do her justice before the whole 
clachan. 

Thoughtfully and sadly he sought the mountain path. It 
had been graded and widened and trimmed until it had become 
a very practicable carriage -road. The underwood had been 
cleared away, and the great single pines sang soughfully to him 
as he passed. At the little wood where he had first seen Isabel 
he paused. The very trees under which they had sat were 
there. He and Isabel had grown older and less fair ; they were 
stronger and fairer than ever. He stood a moment under them 
and looked around. There were many changes. Little vistas 
had been opened, and little lawns cleared, and here and there 
marble statues of wood-nymphs glearhed white amid the black 
trunks of the snow-laden firs. 

The courtyard of the castle was open, there was no fear of an 
enemy now. Its fantastically cut box-trees, its peacock-house 
and conservatory, irritated Angus. He had not seen the court- 
yard of Strathleven since he and his father had marched cut of 
it at the head of a thousand plaided warriors. But if the court 
gates were open, the hall doors — that had always stood open 
during daylight — were shut and locked, and he had to knock 
some time before they were opened. 

The man in plush and powder contrasted so strangely with 


168 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


lus remembrance of Neil MacAllister, in kilt and dirk and check- 
ered hose, that for a moment he felt like a man in a dream, 
though his voice was wakeful and angry enough when he de- 
tected the meniaFs sneer. 

“ Is the earl within 
“ No.” 

“ Where is he ?” 

“ At Assynt Castle.” 

“ Will he be here to-day ?” 

“ No.” 

“Let me pass; I wish to go through the castle.” 

The man refused, and there was a loud and angry debate, 
which might have ended in serious mischief had not an old 
servant recognized the visitor, and fallen at his feet in a passion 
of weeping and congratulation. But even then he felt him- 
self to be watched and doubted, and he only visited the great 
hall and his mother’s bedroom. In both the furniture had been 
entirely changed. Nothing in the hall remained of the old 
time but hi^ father’s great oaken chair, and nothing in his 
mother’s room but her portrait. 

It wounded him deeply to see it there when all else had been 
changed. “ It ought to have been hung beside my father’s and 
his first wife’s portrait in the picture-gallery,” he muttered. 
“ If it is not worthy of a place there it ought to go with me, 
and it shall.” After this discovery he did not much care to go 
to Assynt, but he had made up his mind to have the picture, 
and he must needs ask it of Hector. So he went. 

Assynt had also been greatly changed, but here the changes 
were all extensions and additions. It had, indeed, become a 
residence worthy of a man who wore an earl’s coronet and whose 
wife the queen delighted to honor. He dismounted at the main 
entrance, and the porter opened the gate. 

“ The earl ?” 

“ He walks within.” 

And the man pointed to a little alley lined with fancifully 
cut holly-trees. Hector’s back was towards Angus, and when 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEKS. 


169 


the earl heard footsteps behind him he turned sharply round. 
Angus stood still ; he had no desire to force his brother to a 
warmer acknowledgment than he wished. But even this thought 
wronged Hector, for his heart, with the lapse of years, had only 
grown more tender towards his exiled brother, and when he 
perceived who waited for him he went to meet Angus with a 
welcome whose warmth and sincerity not the most jealous love 
could have doubted. 

Yet it was a strangely solemn meeting. Angus could not 
help thinking that Hector had become a sad and thoughtful 
man. His new dignity seemed to give him no pleasure ; he 
disliked all allusion to it, and quietly put aside all conversation 
but such as referred to Angus and his American home. After 
an hour’s walk they went into the castle. Hector was sure 
“Grace would be delighted,” but the change in Grace was the 
greatest change of all. She was very kind and courteous, but 
Angus could not help asking himself “ if this could be the 
eager, enthusiastic girl that he had last seen pinning the 
white cockade on ‘ Charlie’s men ’ in the courtyard of Strath- 
leven.” 

She had always paid a great deal of attention to her toilet, 
but it seemed to Angus that she had dressed the Countess of 
Reay and Assynt with a quite unnecessary splendor. Her robe 
of white satin, with a fine gold net over it, would have suited 
the salons of St. James or Windsor, and the jewels on her 
head and throat and arms did not hide the fading beauty of 
the matron of forty-seven. 

She spoke of her father, and said he was failing very fast. 
Angus asked to see him, and found John Cameron in a slip- 
pered, prosy old age, that could talk of nothing but his daugh- 
ter, Countess of Reay and Assynt, and the infinite goodness 
and condescension of her Majesty Queen Charlotte. But she 
never named the poor prince whom she had once so devotedly 
loved. He had failed, and Grace was of that order of wom- 
en who regard failure as the unpardonable sin. Angus was too 
gentlemanly to remind her of it; he allowed her to prattle 


170 


THE LAST OF THE MAC ALLISTEES. 


away about her eldest son, Lord John Assynt, who was in the 
army ; and her second son, who had gone on some diplomatic 
mission, and her youngest, who was at Oxford. 

Parenthetically, she remembered Isabel and her trans-Atlan- 
tic nephews and nieces, and rather ostentatiously remarked 
that she had heard that Mr. Fraser intended leaving all his 
money to his namesake, “and how nice that would be !” And 
when Angus answered that his son Andrew had already an es- 
tate wdiose acres outnumbered those of Strathleven and Assynt 
combined, and had married a daughter of the Count De Fon- 
taine, she seemed amazed, and half doubtful. Evidently Angus 
and his family had not been a subject of much interest or much 
conversation in the Assynt household. 

So it was clearly best that Angus should return home as soon 
as possible. He signified his intention the next morning, giv- 
ing as a reason that he wished to pay his duty to Prince Charles 
before returning to America. He made the statement without 
parade, and in a voice full of pathos. Hector glanced kindly 
and proudly at his brother, and set his lips tight to conceal his 
emotion. Grace pretended not to hear the remark, and John 
Cameron looked angry and nervous, and began talking in 
a forced and eager manner about some parliamentary de- 
bate. 

There was little show of leave-taking. Cameron sheltered 
himself behind his great age; Grace took a brooch of coral 
and gold from her throat and sent it to Isabel, and Hector, 
calmly, but resolutely, prepared himself to accompany his broth- 
er. Grace manoeuvred, and Cameron called the new earl to 
his side, but Hector said, in a simple, dour way, which Angus 
knew of old was invincible, that “ he intended to see his 
brother sail, and that his stay would be determined by that 
event.” 

They left on horseback together, and in half an hour had 
recovered their old selves. When they had rode about a mile 
they stopped by a common impulse ; the next moment they 
leaned forward and kissed each other as tenderly and joyously 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


171 


as if they were once again boys ; and after that they fell into 
a conversation which drove every shadow between them far 
away. 

Angus asked for his mother’s picture, and Hector not only 
had it packed and sent away while they ate lunch at Strath- 
leven, but afterwards he opened a private drawer of his own, 
and showed Angus all her jewels and laces. “ They belong to 
Isabel,” he said, ‘‘ and you must now take them.” Then he 
drew from off his own finger a splendid diamond, and said, 
“Give her this with my true love and respect, and tell her I 
have never forgotten that I owe my life to my sister.” 

It pleased Fraser greatly to see that Hector had come back 
with his brother. “ I kent you would do it,” he said, almost 
gratefully; and he w.atched the two men, as they wandered 
about the hills or sat talking by his fireside, with a keen and 
tranquil delight. Angus stayed a week in Dornoch, and then 
bid a long and last “ farewell ” to the old man who loved him 
as a father. No one but God saw the parting, but Fraser said 
solemnly after it, “ Now the bitterness of death is over.” 

Hector went with Angus to Leith, and waited by his broth- 
er’s side till the anchor was weighed and the* captain hurried 
him ashore. During these last days together all their old love 
and confidence had been restored, with the addition of that sor- 
rowful tenderness attached to every companionship which we 
feel is the last one that time shall ever give us. Poor Hector ! 
He had always loved Angus, but never so dearly as when he 
watched him sail away out of the sight of his eyes and the reach 
of his affection forever. 

Of his visit to Avignon Angus never spoke. He wrote to 
Fraser concerning it ; but after the old man had painfully spelled 
out his letter, he put it in the fire and shut his mouth forever 
on that subject. Contrary to all reasonable expectations, he 
rallied greatly ; and when the war between England and her 
American colonies broke out, no one was so eager about de- 
spatches, or so chary about expressing an opinion concerning 
the colonists. Some people, indeed, asserted that he sided 


172 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTEES. 


with the rebels, and many averred that he had been heard to 
laugh quietly to himself when the news of Bunker’s Hill came. 
All agreed that the Frasers were dour folk, and never had liked 
the House of Hanover. But Fraser, as well as John Cameron, 
knew how to get behind his great age when he thought it good 
to do so. 

It was a snowy night again in the closing days of a.d. 1781. 
Fraser, now nearly one hundred years old, lay dying as gently 
as a child goes to sleep. No one but tbe Earl of Reay was 
with him, and he had left a gay party at Assynt, in spite of 
much opposition, to comfort the last hours of his old friend 
and counsellor. A little girl came softly in and laid a letter 
on the bed. Fraser saw it, though his eyes were apparently 
closed. 

“It is from Angus,” he said, in a thin, glad voice; “read it. 
Hector and Hector read in the old man’s ear these words : 
“Father, good news! George’s men have absolutely surren- 
dered; this on the I9th of October. We are free! I have 
sent the prince word by this mail.” Through the mystical 
gray on the face of the dying man a faint rose-color stole, he 
looked long and steadily at Hector, with a happy smile, and 
when the smile faded away he had “ fallen on that sleep ” from 
which there is no waking. 

Ah, well ! These things were all more than one hundred 
years ago. The good knight Angus, so true, so brave, and so 
constant in his love, is now dust, “ and his good sword rust ;” 
but for all that the name he loved lives on in many a brave 
tale, in many a frontier romance and song. For he was the 
founder of a family which, in every expedition of daring and 
adventure, and on every field where freedom has fought her 
battle over again, has had its representative. There was one 
among the hardy band that penetrated into the trackless plains 
of the polar ice-fields. They were among the first explorers of 
the Rocky Mountains. On the battle-fields of Texas and in the 
dungeons of Mexico the name is a familiar one. For with their 
valor and constancy there has been mingled just so much of 


THE LAST OF THE MACALLISTERS. 


173 


the roving Romany blood as has made them pioneers in every 
frontier movement. For the rest, 

“They love their land because it is their own, 

And scorn to give aught other reason why ; 

Would shake hands with a king upon his throne, 

And think it kindness to his majesty.” 


THE END. 








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BEMUR: A TALE Of THE CHRIST. 

By Lew. Wallace. New Edition, pp. 552. 16mo, Cloth, 

$1 50. 

Anything so startling, new, and distinctive as the leading feature of this 
romance does not often appear in works of fiction. . . . Some of Mr. Wal- 
lace’s writing is remarkable for its pathetic eloquence. The scenes de- 
scribed in the New Testament are rewritten with the power and skill of 
an accomplished master of style. — iV. V. Times. 

Its real basis is a description of the life of the Jews and Romans at the 
beginning of the Christian era, and this is both forcible and brilliant. . . . 
We are carried through a surprising variety of scenes; we witness a sea- 
fight, a chariot-race, the internal economy of a Roman galley, domestic in- 
teriors at Antioch, at Jerusalem, and among the tribes of the desert; pal- 
aces, prisons, the haunts of dissipated Roman youth, the houses of pious 
families of Israel. There is plenty of exciting incident; everything is 
animated, vivid, and glowing. — W. Y. Tribune. 

From the opening of the volume to the very close the reader’s interest 
will be kept at the highest pitch, and the novel will be pronounced by all 
one of the greatest novels of the day. — Boston Post. 

It is full of poetic beauty, as though born of an Eastern sage, and there 
is sufficient of Oriental customs, geography, nomenclature, etc., to greatly 
strengthen the semblance. — Boston Commonwealth. 

“Ben-Hur” is interesting, and its characterization is fine and strong. 
Meanwhile it evinces careful study of the period in which the scene is laid, 
and will help those who read it with reasonable attention to realize the 
nature and conditions of Hebrew life in Jerusalem and Roman life at 
Antioch at the time of our Saviour’s advent. — Examiner^ N. Y. 

It is really Scripture history of Christ’s time clothed gracefully and 
delicately in the flowing and loose drapery of modern fiction. . . . Few late 
works of fiction excel if in genuine ability and interest. — N. Y. Graphic. 

One of the most remarkable and delightful books. It is as real and 
warm as life itself, and as attractive as the grandest and most heroic 
chapters of history. — Indianapolis Journal. 

The book is one of unquestionable power, and will be read with un- 
wonted interest by many readers who are weary of the conventional novel 
and romance. — Boston Journal. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

The above ivork sent by mail, postage prepaid, to any part of the United States 
or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


“AS WE WENT MARCHING ON.” 


A Story of the War. By G. W. Hosmee, M.D. pp. 
310. 16mo, Cloth, $1 00. 

A skilful blending of plot with descriptions of active operations in the 
field. An attractive book. — N. Y. 8u?i. 

It seems to be all true excepting, perhaps, the names of the heroes and 
heroines. The author’s battle sketches are good, his characters natural, 
and his conversations neatly managed. — N. Y Journal of Commerce. 

A vivid, somewhat exciting story, in which the experiences of army life 
are told in a way that makes them sound like the author’s own, and in 
which the narrative is conducted by Mars and Cupid alternately. — Phila- 
delphia Inquirer. 

This is really a fine story, in which marching and fighting and love are 
blended, yet one never interferes with the other. ... Of the picturesque- 
ness of camp life, the rude comfort of the bivouac, the hardships of the 
march, there is not in all the war history with which we are acquainted 
any such forceful description as in this little volume. — Rochester Herald. 

Interesting, both as a novel and as a description of the actual life of the 
soldier — the discomforts of rainy nights, muddy roads, and a hungry 
bivouac in a country filled with foes. . . . The various military incidents — 
the night marches, the annihilation of infantry surprised by calvary, the 
gathering roar and surging tide of a great battle — are given with the en- 
thralling energy peculiar to the eye-witness. — Commercial Bulletin., Boston. 

A well-told soldier’s romance, commencing in the Blue Hidge wilderness 
of Virginia about the time of Pope’s disastrous campaign, and ending with 
Sheridan’s ride up the valley and converting defeat into victory at Fisher 
Hill. ... A war story superior to any with which we are acquainted. It is 
admirable as to plot and characters, as to the picturesque and effective 
background of military life, and as to its pure, graceful, and vigorous 
English. — Pittsburgh Post. 

Dr. Hosmer has written a spirited story that will interest old campaign- 
ers on both sides of the rebellion conflict. The clash and roar of battle 
are distinctly heard in some of his chapters. A good story for the home 
camp-fire. — Troy Press. 

This is a well- written and interesting story, in which domestic incidents 
and home affections blend with the roar of battle and the taking of pris- 
oners. The writer shows considerable knowledge of the actions and posi- 
tions on both sides in Virginia, where the scene is laid. — Brooklyn Eagle. 

A well-told, interesting story, with just enough of war, deceit, and love 
in it to be heartily enjoyable. — Hartford Post. 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS New York. 

Hakpk u & Bkothrus toill send the above work by mail, postage prepaid, to any 
part of the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


It surpasses all its predecessors, — N. Y. Tribune. 



A Dictionary of the English Language, Pronouncing, Etymological, 
and Explanatory, Embracing Scientific and Other Terms, Numer- 
ous Familiar Terms, and a Copious Selection of Old English 
Words. By the Rev. James Stormonth. The Pronunciation 
Carefully Revised by the Rev. P. H. Phelp, M.A. pp. 1248. 
4to, Cloth, $6 00 ; Half Roan, $7 00 ; Sheep, $7 50. 

Also in Harper’s Franklin Square Library, in Twenty- 
three Parts. 4to, Paper, 25 cents each Part. Muslin covers for 
binding supplied by the publishers on receipt of 50 cents. 

As regards thoroughness of etymological research and breadth of modern inclusion, 
Stormonth’s new dictionary surpasses all its predecessors. * * h: in fact, Stormonth’s 
Dictionary possesses merits so many and conspicuous that it can hardly fail to estab- 
lish itself as a standard and a favorite. — N. Y. Tribune. 

This may serve in great measure the purposes of an English cyclopaedia. It gives 
lucid and succinct definitions of the technical terms in science and art, in law and 
medicine. We have the explanation of words and phrases that puzzle most people, 
showing wonderfully comprehensive and out-of the-way research. We need onl)'^ add 
that the Dictionary appears in all its deimrtments to have been brought down to meet 
the latest demands of the day, and that it is admirably printed. — Times, London. 

A most valuable addition to the library of the scholar and of the general reader. 
It can have for the present no ix)ssible rival . — Boston Post. 

It has the bones and sinews of the grand dictionary of the future. * * * An invalu- 
able library book . — Ecclesiastical Gazette, London. 

A work which is certainly without a rival, all things considered, among the dic- 
tionaries of our language. The peculiarity of the work is that it is equally well adapt- 
ed to the uses of the man of business, who demands compactness and ease of reference, 
and to those of the most exigent scholar. — N. Y. Commercial Advertiser. 

As compared with our standard dictionaries, it is better in type, richer in its vocab- 
ulary, and happier in arrangement. Its system of grouping is admirable. * * * He 
who possesses this dictionary will enjoy and use it, and its bulk is not so great as to 
make use of it a terror . — Christian Advocate, N. Y. 

A well-planned and carefully executed work, which has decided merits of its own, 
and for which there is a place not filled by any of its rivals.— W. F. Sun. 

A work of sterling value. It has received from all quarters the highest commenda- 
tion . — Lutheran Observer, Philadelphia. 

A trustworthy, truly scholarly dictionary of our English language.— Intel- 
ligencer, N. Y. 

The issue of Stormonth’s great English dictionary is meeting with a hearty wel- 
come everywhere.— Rostow Transcript. 

A critical and accurate dictionary, the embodiment of good seholarship and the 
result of modern researches. Compression and clearness are its external evidences, 
and it offers a favorable comparison with the best dictionaries in use, while it holds an 

unrivalled place in bringing forth the result of modern philological criticism Boston 

Journal. 

Full, complete,’ and accurate, including all the latest words, and giving all their 
derivatives and correlatives. The definitions are short, but plain, the method of mak- 
ing pronunciation very simple, and the arrangement such as to give the best results 
in the smallest space . — Philadelphia Inquirer, 


Published by HARPER & BROTHERS, New York. 

HAKrEB & Brothers will send the above work by mail., postage prepaid., to any 
part 0/ the United States or Canada, on receipt of the price. 


/ 


HARPER’S BAZAR FOR 1886. 

The new volume of Harper’s Bazar olfers a host of brilliant attractions designed to 
interest every member of the family circle. It will continue to combine the choicest 
literature and the finest illustrations with the latest fashions, the most useful house- 
hold knowledge, the best methods of household decoration, the newest usages of social 
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eminently practical. Its elaborate articles on weddings, entertainments, cards, table 
manners, and the usages of modern society in general, are of the highest interest. 
Much attention is paid to art decoration, and exquisite embroidery designs are pub- 
lished from the decorative art societies of New York, California, etc. — Mrs. Candace 
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The literary excellence of Harper’s Bazar is beyond dispute. Its serial stories are 
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The fine art illustrations of Harper’s Bazar, from the best native and foreign artists, 
" form a marked feature of the journal, as do the bright humorous cuts and anecdotes 
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Numerous novelties are in preparation for the new volume, which opens with a 
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James Payn. Other tales will shortly be announced. The vigorous papers, “Women 
and Men,” by Colonel Thomas Wentworth Higginson, will be continued, and no pains 
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Address, HARPER & BROTHERS, Franklin Square, New York. 


















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